ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. Wood underwent this examination, Blueskin felt a small and trembling hand placed upon his own, and, turning at the summons, beheld a young female, whose features were partially concealed by a loo, or half mask, standing beside him. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her.
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