"Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. They bounced without merriment over bumpy Roman roads, and by the time they arrived she was extremely nauseous. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to Tyburn. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice.
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