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. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. ‘Don’t rightly know how you make that out, you being a French spy and a prisoner and all.
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