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. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. "Sir Cecil is no more. “You have the temperament,” he said.
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