She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Indeed, it was his boast that he could find his way through any part of London blindfolded; and by this time, it would seem, he had nearly arrived at his destination; for, grasping his companion's arm, he led him along a narrow entry which did not appear to have an outlet, and came to a halt. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. Well, that’s the situation. She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. Had romance to be banished from life?. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III.
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