They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. Easy enough. Abruptly would come the end. It was the gallows. 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. Lucy dug out an old light gray cotton miniskirt that had shrunk on Shari in the wash. For he come after her, did Mr Charvill.
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