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. Only promise me to amend—to quit your vile companions—and I will forgive you—will bless you. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman.
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