‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. All the party were greatly interested by Sheppard's history— especially Figg, who laughed loud and long at the escape from the Condemned Hold. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, 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! II. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. Sheppard. O'Higgins. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night.
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