The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. With this view, Jack was carried—for he was no longer able to move without assistance— to a ward called the Castle, situated over the gateway on the western side, in what was considered the strongest part of the jail. "I am Owen Wood, at your service.
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