The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II. It's as strong, if not stronger, than this. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; I didn’t arrange it. Though a few months younger than his companion Jack Sheppard, he was half a head taller, and much more robustly formed. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. “I haven’t seen the new Patience, dear,” she said.
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