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Yet she never once thought of changing it. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, 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! III. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. ” “Well”—her breath failed her for a moment.
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