’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. If my Mom found out, she’d kill me. Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, 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! II. ‘Naturally I had to come,’ confirmed the lively blonde, her eyes twinkling up at Alderley. But she has let fall enough for me to understand that she knows about her father’s misdeeds.
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