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She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. “There are a good many Whites in London. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. I've always been more or less music-mad. 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.
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This video was uploaded to southwestbyways.info on 18-09-2024 22:24:37
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