I was compelled to run away. "I'm never satisfied with a first attempt. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. "Two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in Newgate before to-morrow morning," continued Wild.
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