"Good bye, Jack! Keep up your spirits. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. Martin’s parents looked at each other in embarrassed, silent communication. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. The boy was all conscience, and he suffered through this conscience to such lengths that the law would be impotent to add anything.
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