She pulled him towards the bed. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss. She turned quickly. But what can we do? Here am I, fixed to respectability and this laboratory; you’re living at home. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. By some it was affirmed that a subterranean communication existed between the thief-taker's abode and Newgate, by means of which he was enabled to maintain a secret correspondence with the imprisoned felons: by others, that an under-ground passage led to extensive vaults, where such malefactors as he chose to screen from justice might lie concealed till the danger was blown over. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them.
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