When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. Amidship there was also canvas, and like that over the wheel, drab and dirty. My house is the next door to the Cooper's Arms, in the Old Bailey, opposite Newgate. She rose to the fire to stoke it.
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