’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. The end of the world seemed at hand. “It is in your hands from now on, Shar. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. " "Anything like that?" "Yes; but the colour is lavender. 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. Fortescue, with a bow.
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