And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. “Soon she will return. The moment my escape is known, a large reward will be placed on my head. About nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the Lodge at Newgate.
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