“When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. 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. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. "Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain.
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