" "Very right, my love," said Wood, "very sensibly remarked. But I'll not believe it of you. 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. Seeing her improved mood, he had offered the Latin reading lesson strategically, knowing it would surprise her that he considered her capable. Don't you see they're putting on their cloaks?" "That's false!" rejoined Marvel, in a low tone; "I perceive what has taken place. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately.
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