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. ” “But why——” Sir John stopped short. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly. " Sheppard said nothing, but a disdainful smile curled his lips. ’ There was a silence. But in this posture he fared worse than ever.
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