Go in, go in, Melusine prayed, hoping desperately that he would not change his mind and take another route. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. The crowd now dispersed amongst the fields, and thousands of persons were seen hurrying towards Tyburn as fast as their legs could carry them, leaping over hedges, and breaking down every impediment in their course. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend.
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