She could hear the bell tinkle as the horse shook its head. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street.
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