This time there wasn't any doubt. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. "Why didn't you come out when I called you, you young dog?" cried Quilt in a savage tone. CHAPTER XXVIII. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St.
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