Twenty-one, twenty-two. “John, you were never bound to me, you don’t owe me anything. But also this must not go on. “Oh, please. ” “What ball?” The question was rhetorical. Her heartbeat quickened. 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. At six o'clock, the wicket was shut; and at nine, the jail was altogether locked up.
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