He stood completely still as she moved her tongue up and down its shaft. Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. He told her something about music, the great world outside. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. 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.
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