\" She said. I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. 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. Perhaps she did love research for its own sake, she was certainly gifted enough. " "Well, well, I'm not within a minute," rejoined the turnkey. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.
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