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. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. Here goes. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. Her eyes flashed. He screamed in pain, doubling over with a howl as she stumbled out of the bed. Ha! ha! ha!" "Jack!" exclaimed Thames, angrily.
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