“Damn”. John said nothing. Urging his steed along Oxford Road,— as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,—he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure. Tell her, that more than once, when about to commit some desperate offence, I have been restrained by her gentle image.
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