There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. That was an admission all right. “Cheveney!” she repeated. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. "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. " In less time than Hobson had mentioned, the carriage was announced. "I will have it now," rejoined Trenchard, "or our agreement is void.
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