“Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. ‘Fiddle, Gerald. "It looks as though, we should go together," he said, pulling her toward him. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it. But Jack did not heed them. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. No, this was imbecile. I'm nearly nabbing you. 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.
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