\"Do not tell me that you have not asked her yet, fool, or I will be forced to dump the rest of that soda over your head. . \" She fibbed. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. 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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