The Wastrel did not relish this. "I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. I have worn it for weeks and weeks. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. . "Well, my pretty dears," he added, "—to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. ‘And if it is true that you love me, I do not know why it is that you do not kiss me again at once.
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