“I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. Slowly descending Snow Hill, the train passed on its way, attended by the same stunning vociferations, cheers, yells, and outcries, which had accompanied it on starting from Newgate. And, incidentally, check on that unfortunate young fellow Kimble. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. ‘Gone!’ he said. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast.
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