It was a fetching gown that stretched tightly in a cream colored swath over her breasts and expanded to a full skirt with a petticoat. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. “We are not going the right way,” she exclaimed.
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