The unexpected twist—his disclosure to McClintock—had given Spurlock but temporary relief. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips.
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