’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone. “Oh my God! You sounded like my Grandma just now! How did you do that?” He asked, shocked. ’ I received strange looks from them. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. “Stay where you are for a moment,” she directed. 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.
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