“I believe after all it’s coming out!” said Miss Stanley. "I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. From the white beach the palms ran in serried rows quarter of a mile inland, then began a jungle of bamboo, gum-tree, sandalwood, plantain, huge fern, and choking grasses. Hear me then, now, before I take one step to establish my origin, or secure my rights. He's safe enough now.
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