The little matter of an accent may be misleading, I grant you, but —’ He was interrupted, and with impatience. "By George!" he exclaimed. ” “You did,” Anna exclaimed. Thus, all her interest in life began to centre upon the patient, who was apparently quite as anchorless as she was. He would see this sister. She stared at him. 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. . ’ She drew a heavy breath.
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