His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still. "Married!—no—no," replied the woollen-draper. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison.
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