” He pushed her a dozen yards along the greasy pavement with flat, well-trained hands that there seemed to be no opposing. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, 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! III. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever.
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