The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. The Chapel was situated in the south-east angle of the jail; the ordinary at the time of this history being the Reverend Thomas Purney; the deputy chaplain, Mr. ‘Seems to me, missie, as you’re as dangerous a female as I’m like to see. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. His mouth was sensuous but his eyes became frenetic. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. 196 Succeeded where she had not. Are these folks your current foster parents?” “Yes.
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