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He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. It was all highly intriguing. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. "Good gracious! so I do," exclaimed his amiable consort. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 10-09-2024 23:58:41
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