Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. "And now to dispose of our dead. ” Sir John’s reply was incoherent. He looked at his friend. ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase.
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