’ ‘No, I wouldn’t have believed you. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. ” “I like the mystical way better,” said Ann Veronica, and thought.
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