“I just came to you and put myself in your hands. The militia were in already. I saw it this morning in the Daily Journal—an advertisement, offering a reward—" "A reward!" echoed Jack. What's the idea of the black border?" "My father recently died, sir. 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.
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