"So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the
letter. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth,
OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth:
There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up,
And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup!
For a can of ale calms,
A highwayman's qualms,
And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms
And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles
So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles!
"Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. “I want a plain word with you about all
this. She repeated phrases of Mrs. ‘Don’t rightly know how you
make that out, you being a French spy and a prisoner and all. He was normal now, and the coat was only
a coat. She cried and sobbed in fits.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM4LjExOC44NCAtIDA3LTA3LTIwMjQgMjA6NDU6NTQgLSAxMTYzNjc1ODI1
This video was uploaded to kooplokaalmontferland.info on 05-07-2024 03:24:12