Meanwhile, the object of all this fearful disturbance had made his escape to Newgate, from the roof of which he witnessed the destruction of his premises. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. It was only a matter of time. “Is Coke okay?” He asked as he pulled into the gas station. I borrowed forty pounds from Mr. 1715.
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