’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Gerald said calmly, sipping at his burgundy. Montressor’s guests. We aren't between him and heaven; he is between us and heaven. “You are mistaken, David. ” “Married?” said Ann Veronica. “That is your sister’s name. 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.
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