But in its stead—toward
morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime,
appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the
poet and the novelist in him. But, alas!
she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. ’
‘I am relieved to hear it. Do not mistake me. "
"Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Her sadness was manageable only
because she was so familiar with its phases, because she
could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer
studying the moon. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth,
OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth:
There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up,
And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup!
For a can of ale calms,
A highwayman's qualms,
And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms
And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles
So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles!
"Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. She paused. "So, wanton, I have found you!"
"Wanton! Why, you infernal liar!" cried Spurlock, striking at the arm.
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This video was uploaded to parabolanews.com on 03-07-2024 10:02:37