’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. 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. For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. The chief influence was her awakening sense of the need of money. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. ‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green.
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