"And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. "Lend a hand with the ruffles, Blueskin!" he shouted, as that personage, who had just recovered from the stunning effects of the blow, contrived to pick himself up. Rowland's plans were quickly formed, and as quickly executed. But the great point was still unaccomplished.
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