The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. Then the girl was heading past the inn and Roding marched down to confront her. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. 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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