This is your moment. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. "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. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. How perfectly charming. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. I admit it. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly.
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