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They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. 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.
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