” And thus it was that as Ann Veronica neared the gates of home, she said to herself: “I’ll have it out with him somehow. ” After all, it was not so easy. "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. Where I am in error, you can set me right. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. ’ ‘Good. ‘There you have soldiers.
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