"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. It’s your way of glossing over the ethical position. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. ’ ‘Please forgive, milor’, but my wife, and even I myself, have yet very much trouble with English. He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing.
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