" Jack was about to comply with the request, when an unlooked-for interruption occurred. “Well, he’s really smart. Then he took me out to Monteaux, on a motor. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. 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 suppose my levity is incorrigible. “I didn’t understand, Vee. Father— dead. But in a little while you will awake; and if there is a spark of manhood in you, you will be horrified at this day's work.
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