It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. Old Newgate 302 X. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. White,” she remarked. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. I sat within a few feet of him.
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