Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. " "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. "I see," rejoined Hogarth, rapidly sketching a file, which he placed in the hands of the picture.
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