Truth to tell, more damage had been done in the enthusiastic chase carried out by the militiamen detailed to catch it. The mob now directed their attention to Newgate; and, from their threats, appeared determined to fire it. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. “You will go and see her,” he begged. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris.
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