“Will you help me?” he asked. The lad hesitated. Do you live here?" "Not exactly," answered the carpenter. I didn’t know he had Italian relatives. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. 'Slife! you are wonderfully altered. 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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