She brought the cups of cocoa back to the bedroom. He was not there. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. 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. " "Ah! you're so very particular," sighed Mrs. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. " "It won't. It was a moment before he recognised that the effect had been similar on all those present, including General Lord Charvill. ” “It is hard to be distant from your own mother.
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