“If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. In others, she acts with the speed and surety of the loosed arrow. 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. “Thank God,” he exclaimed.
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