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The atmosphere was 46 strained and deathly quiet at the dining room table. 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. “It rained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the place never seemed dull. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. They were sure to catch up with her. . ’ Even as they watched, a shadow passed across one of the apertures. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips.
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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 13-06-2024 23:04:05
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