"Better than your company, Saint Giles," replied Sheppard; "so, shut the door, and make yourself scarce. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. And now—Dear! Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me. 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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