. 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. ” “A little pit!” said Ann Veronica; “a little prison!” “It’s just as often a little refuge. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. Do not mistake me. Her thick body was heavy and massive. ’ Her face fell. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. ‘Bête.
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