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“I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. 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. " "Very. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. ” Sebastian instructed, looking up from his meal. Only old librarians and Shirley Temples say that. That was the true marvel of it. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life.
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