Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. He strangled the infant, which slipped out of his hands and screamed. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. 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. But some little distance behind him, someone had come out from the shadow of the building and, seeing the Frenchman reappear, darted back again as quickly.
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