" "Oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands. Sebastian crouched on the floor with a single dead victim, a young highwayman. 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. She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. ‘What’s more, I wouldn’t blame her.
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