Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. ‘To read and write, of course, and to sew. “I ought to have done. 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. Nor my grandfathers both. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend.
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