It was horrible. It was true. ’ Gerald sighed. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. 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. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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