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He jumped back, cursing. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. pgdp. I do not even know his name. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. I've often regretted that I didn't investigate the matter.

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