His little doll. "I was at Tyburn. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. He had never wanted daughters. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready.
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