If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison.
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