Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. "It is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be. "I would have done more, if necessary. And it is not at all his affair. Ann Veronica listened thoughtfully, with her eyes on the turf, and now and then she asked a question or looked up to discuss a point. " "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration.
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