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‘Her purpose, if you will believe me, is to get herself a dowry so that she may marry an Englishman. A deadly sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round. 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. And then as we went down you’d try to explain. The doctor and Anna were left alone. Suspicion was in his face. Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host.
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