‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. This horrible piece of deformity, who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to the small wits of the jail, was nicknamed the Black Dog of Newgate.
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