"To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered. And when I have finished killing your major, I shall also kill you. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. The Ragged Edge.
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