Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night. "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’m not a good woman. " "Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?" "Well, aren't you?" "I don't know; I really don't know. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace.
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