"Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. But, as you perceive, I brought it away with me. Good-looking girl. Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed. ” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious. But that doesn’t alter the fact that there IS innocence. 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.
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