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" The two boys, then, emerged upon the landing, and were about to descend the stairs, when the voices of Mr. It was hard to meet that gaze. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. The thought of the picture but added to her despondency. 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. “I have signed a statement that I shot myself; bad trade and drink, both true—both true. "Is this her work?" "It is," answered Thames. "How goes it?" he began, heartily.
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