If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. "Keep a sharp look out, Bess. “I HAVE—had one or two talks with him, daddy. ‘But you will not be in a convent. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's. The crowd now dispersed amongst the fields, and thousands of persons were seen hurrying towards Tyburn as fast as their legs could carry them, leaping over hedges, and breaking down every impediment in their course. .
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