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. "Let the gentleman take his own course," said Jonathan, mildly. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything.
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