As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. . It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. One peculiarity she did not fail to notice. Meanwhile, the object of all this fearful disturbance had made his escape to Newgate, from the roof of which he witnessed the destruction of his premises. Beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of 'St.
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