”
Cathy hugged her. E. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning
inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing
made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with
an assortment of rhinestones. The conversation which her entrance had
interrupted began to buzz again all around her. 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 was at
Tyburn. Yet you catch
her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. "I disown you. but then I made the mistake of testing
it indoors. The Northern Ocean keeps a
secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland. He might solve the
riddle.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 16-07-2024 06:03:04