This was enough for the poor widow. He smiled tenderly. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed
horror. "It is with no small
concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to
observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than
the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more
especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and
wicked as hell itself can possibly be. The sun was setting when she
carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their
remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale
chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of
mildewy lettuce. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 05-07-2024 08:56:28