Wood, who had worked herself into a passion; "and, I'll warrant 'em, the boldest robber among 'em shall repent it, if he comes across me. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters. He strangled the infant, which slipped out of his hands and screamed. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew.
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