" "Stop!" cried Jonathan, who did not care to push matters too far, "let me have a word with you, Mr. Save my seat. 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. " "Hark!" cried Winifred, "Thames is arrived. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me. “You were booked of course. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters.
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