They thought that she was her own mother. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Nothing material occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666, when it was utterly destroyed by the Great Fire. "Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben. Here again instinct guided her.
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