"Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. "What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. His breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way.
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