“I suppose things have changed?” she said. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. "I'm afraid, Jack, you'll come to the gallows," observed the smith; "buth if you do, I'll go to Tyburn to see you. He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. “Anna! Thank God I have found you at last.
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