Nothing material occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666, when it was utterly destroyed by the Great Fire. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette.
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