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. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you.
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