What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. “Anna!” she repeated. ‘Either you tell me why you want the wretched animal, or it stays here. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. He had gained admission somehow, and he too was waiting for Anna. 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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