‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. “They died within a few months of one another. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. The day comes when you shall regret how you have spoken to me.
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