‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. This horrible piece of deformity, who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to the small wits of the jail, was nicknamed the Black Dog of Newgate. "Holloa—what's that?" cried Austin, starting up.
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