By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. "Help!—murder!—thieves!" screamed Mrs. Rhea laughed and lunged for the broadsword that Sebastian had carelessly left lying on the ground. Let me walk you to the door. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket.
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