By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. We shall take an eternal farewell of each other.
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