E. ’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. 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. And, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue.
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