"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. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. She kissed Lucia’s cheeks and patted her growing belly upon rising, to which her new husband disapproved, but Lucia loved the attention and adoration. “You will not even answer my letters. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor.
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