” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. I’ve wanted you—always. "I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow.
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