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"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis. It is perfectly intrusive of me, and I quite see that you must be sick to death of running into such an interfering busybody all the time. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. The thought had not even occurred to him.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 13:28:49