” Michelle said. PITT, the keeper of Newgate. . She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped.
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