When she arrived at the Palazzo, not a single sentry was aware of her presence. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. "This is the explanation of the bloody deed. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. Innumerable little puzzles were instantly solved. She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas.
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