"The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. First, I went to Country Tom's, the Goat, in Long Lane. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. .
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