’
‘Then what?’ demanded Lucilla in a hushed tone. The sun was setting, casting long
dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t
stand it?”
He regarded her as though this was a new idea. 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. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked.
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This video was uploaded to golfrealestateonline.com on 12-07-2024 14:51:53