’ Total bullshit, if you ask me. The father was a madman. Because of the woman’s pregnant status, a panic had spread in the county that a serial murderer was afoot, but she had made sure to copy the crimes of a famous serial killer that she had read about in the paper to cover herself and mislay blame. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. This accident rather confirms than checks my purpose. “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. He's now in spring-ankle warehouse with Sir Rowland Trenchard. " At the time of his present introduction, his play of "The Captives," had just been produced at Drury Lane, and he was meditating his "Fables," which were published two years afterwards.
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