"A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. ‘Now then, missie. Give up your lonely hours of work here. “Oh my God! You sounded like my Grandma just now! How did you do that?” He asked, shocked.
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