The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. When gallant TOM SHEPPARD to Tyburn was led,— "Stop the cart at the Crown—stop a moment," he said. ’ She eyed him. With the same inducements we should all do the same thing. " "It matters not what I think," replied Wild.
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