"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. It was a capital diversion; and as usual the Leatherneck bested the Britisher, in seven rounds. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. ” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. Not then. But it was hopelessly hard to put. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. " "What is it?" asked the poor woman. "Sometimes a cup of lies is a cheering thing," replied the trader. “You will have some tea?” she asked. He patted the hand on his sleeve.
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