Her voice was weak and flat. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now.
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