Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son. And, what's more, I tell you, if Captain Sheppard is hanged, you need never hope to call me Mrs. ToC The day appointed for the execution was now close at hand, and the prisoner, who seemed to have abandoned all hopes of escape, turned his thoughts entirely from worldly considerations. Even the basest objects sold in the 24 roadside shops were beautiful in some way.
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