I was rude and stupid. He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. And I’m afraid. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air.
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