He lit a cigarette and loitered about. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. ” “Would you like to be a boy?” “I wonder! It’s out of the question, any way. Wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by Winifred, took her seat at the table.
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