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. Wild here presently, and I wouldn't for the world—Zounds!" he exclaimed, as the figure of the thief-taker appeared at the wicket, "here he is. ” “I thought I explained—” “Come home!” Ann Veronica shrugged her shoulders. . She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. . ” “Of course I am.
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