His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. “Of course,” he ventured, “I could try for more at the ‘Alhambra. But the twins were so fucked over at that point they were zombies. "Medicine cannot save mo now. 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.
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