He flipped the television off. 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. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. "Not my king's," returned Wood. " "Meaning that I don't belong anywhere, in heaven or on earth?" "Meaning that you must cut off the wing or grow another to mate it. Prison was beastly. ‘And so?’ she asked. " CHAPTER IV.
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