” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. As Spurlock called her name, she paused and turned. But when it came to broaching them, it proved to be much more difficult than she had supposed. “I confess it.
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