" He bent his head to his knees. “Never. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. Besides those whom I've slain with my own hands, I've brought upwards of thirty persons to the gallows. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. Nobody can trust you.
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