Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. ’ ‘So you think she is an émigré?’ Lucilla put in before the incensed Roding could respond. “Before you do anything else I should advise you to secure those charred fragments of paper from the grate. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. Earles was absolutely indifferent. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. “Why not? They tell me that London is impossible till after ten, and I want my first impressions to be favourable.
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