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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. “I’ll come to the station,” said Ann Veronica. ‘Now I see that you are mad indeed. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. You are taking it for granted that I am ‘Alcide. " "It's light. " The stranger was for a moment lost in reflection. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like! A Frenchie is what you are, and there ain’t no granddaughter Charvill no more. "Never mind," replied the tapstress.
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