He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. 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. " "I was never going to tell anybody," she added. Gosse cursed him finely, of course, but there was nothing he could do. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas.
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