He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Here Marvel, the executioner, who was in attendance, was commanded by Wild to tie his thumbs together, which he did with whipcord so tightly, that the string cut to the bone. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. She was trembling a little. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside.
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