You have neither reason nor logic. " For a long time after O'Higgins had gone the doctor rocked in his swivel chair, his glance directed at the map. " "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another. "To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered. The light disappeared. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so.
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