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. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all.
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