"Take me, then," replied the widow. “I have been very selfish,” she declared. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way,
At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay;
I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl,
And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul!
Whatever may hap,
I'll taste of the tap,
To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap!
For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles
So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I
could keep for at least six months. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if
you care for them, and leave the room. "
The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes
and a gentle mouth.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 02-07-2024 02:14:39