“Have you heard things?” The tears stood in her eyes. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. They had escaped from the New Prison, it is true; but the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell, by which that jail was formerly surrounded, and which was more than twenty feet high, and protected by formidable and bristling chevaux de frise, remained to be scaled.
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