A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. "It is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be. What do you think of the old tub?" "She's wonderful!" cried Ruth. The progress of time was marked in Mr.
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