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Her little white hand stole across the table. \" Cathy beamed. E. " "He has done too much already," answered the widow. “That’s suicidal bullshit, Lucy. "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. Playing became a way of escape. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled.
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