“Please go and see that—nothing happens,” she pleaded. 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. It’s well hidden, miss. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother.
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