He thought it best to let the matter drop. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. Spurlock stepped into the room. FOOTNOTES: [A] At the hospital of Saint Giles for Lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the City of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a Bowl of Ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life. The recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. They would be quite as entertaining as the histories of Guzman D'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or any of my favourite rogues,—and far more instructive. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. " "What can be done for him?" cried Thames. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety.
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