The Old Mint. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. In a sense it alters nothing. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. This horrible piece of deformity, who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to the small wits of the jail, was nicknamed the Black Dog of Newgate.
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