She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. My house is the next door to the Cooper's Arms, in the Old Bailey, opposite Newgate. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie.
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