Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. ToC The day appointed for the execution was now close at hand, and the prisoner, who seemed to have abandoned all hopes of escape, turned his thoughts entirely from worldly considerations. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. Sheppard. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister.
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