She recognized the face but could not quite place it. Every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. Lucy’s cool. "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 was—I was a corespondent. Nobody will ever know what the fleas thought. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision.
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