But he wrote on. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. 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. Her head dipped deeply into the current, and she narrowly escaped being swamped.
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