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I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. CHAPTER IV. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. You observe that I am, as usual, fairly cheerful, and moderately amiable. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. I loved her so much. He was not due from the City until about six, and so she went and played Badminton with the Widgett girls until dinner-time.

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