If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. Compared with her father and Mr. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. 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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