When she finished her last cadence, Carolyn and Thomas begged her to play encores. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. "Then it's all over with us. I think not. “Oh dear, I’m not dressed. "I've waited supper, you perceive. But your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle. We were only—les autres. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL.
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