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. How she learned of her heritage I do not know, but you need not imagine that it is greed that drives her. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. ‘But—’ ‘Nothing at all for you to worry your head over,’ said the captain, moving to try and usher her forth.
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