She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. We shall never have an heir, you and I! My family is crumbling; all of my brothers are dead. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. She cursed herself for a fool. 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.
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