The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. Though by no means so extensive or commodious as the modern prison, Old Newgate was a large and strongly-built pile. The day was warm even under an overcast sky and Hilary, uncomfortable, shifted his weight.
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