Once in England, she made all haste to visit Remenham House. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. FOOTNOTES: [A] At the hospital of Saint Giles for Lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the City of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a Bowl of Ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life. “Delicious!” she murmured. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol.
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