"What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. "Don't disturb yourself," continued the other, nowise disconcerted by the rebuke. 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. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. This structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. “You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. I proved myself early as an athlete, skills I retained long after my return home. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. I’ve had a headache all day.
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