" And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Figg," replied Jack, smiling; "for, before I'm taken to Tyburn, I mean to borrow a shirt for the occasion from you. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good.
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