‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. He was snoring stupidly. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. "I told you I was not unprotected. " "No doubt, my dear," acquiesced the carpenter, "no doubt. Winter came at the manor. 55 <7> THE MANOR, 1349 They moved to the country manor in the autumn of 1349, when plague was still raging through the city. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit.
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