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. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. ‘I live in Kent. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much of a second-hand clothes shop. ” She pulled her dress back over her breasts, glad for the elastic that she had sewn in. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves.
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