“You will go and see her,” he begged. The lad hesitated. "From that door," continued the thief-taker, pointing to the gloomy portal of the prison opposite which they were standing, "the condemned are taken to Tyburn. Here, it might be anything at all. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken.
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