It was of no use, she let him do it as she could not be strangled. The woman shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. 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.
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