Are we to see him here?" "Yes, my love. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. Then she was out of the door and running, fast. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. Let me keep him. 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 believe it is.
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