‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why. I have done n-nothing. “Non. "I am glad you think that," she replied. Spurling, "I hope he may never see Tyburn. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. She wants that and needs it more than anything else in the world. “It’s his birthday. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III.
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