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Charles Edward
Madame Flirt: A Romance of The Beggars Opera
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1231834Madame Flirt: A Romance of The Beggars Operahttps://www.gandhi.com.mx/madame-flirt-a-romance-of-the-beggar-s-opera-2/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/543377/50d9ba39-b6ad-4e9d-b242-b84a853b263b.jpg?v=6383352318753700009797MXNLibrary of AlexandriaInStock/Ebooks/<p>IF YOUR NAME ISNT POLLY IT OUGHT TO BE "As pretty a wench as man ever clapped eyes on. Wake up, Lance, and look at her." The portly man of genial aspect sitting in the corner of the bow window of the Maiden Head Inn at the High Street end of Dyott Street in the very heart of St. Giles, clapped his sleeping friend on the shoulder and shook him. The sleeper, a young man whose finely drawn features were clouded with the dregs of wine, muttered something incoherently, and with an impatient twist shifted his body in the capacious arm-chair. "Let him alone, Mr. Gay. When a mans in his cups hes best by himself. Twill take him a days snoring to get rid of his bout. The landlord here tells me he walked with the mob from Newgate to Tyburn and back and refreshed himself at every tavern on the way, not forgetting, I warrant you, to fling away a guinea at the Bowl, the Lamb, and the Black Jack over yonder, and drink to the long life of the daring rogue in the cart and the health of the hangman to boot." "Long life indeed, my lord. A couple of hours at most. Not that the length of life is to be measured by years. I dont know but what its possible to cram ones whole existence into a few hours, thanks to that thief of time," rejoined John Gay pointing to the bottle on the table</p>...1221336Madame Flirt: A Romance of The Beggars Opera9797https://www.gandhi.com.mx/madame-flirt-a-romance-of-the-beggar-s-opera-2/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/543377/50d9ba39-b6ad-4e9d-b242-b84a853b263b.jpg?v=638335231875370000InStockMXN99999DIEbook20219781465548603_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9781465548603_<p>IF YOUR NAME ISNT POLLY IT OUGHT TO BE As pretty a wench as man ever clapped eyes on. Wake up, Lance, and look at her. The portly man of genial aspect sitting in the corner of the bow window of the Maiden Head Inn at the High Street end of Dyott Street in the very heart of St. Giles, clapped his sleeping friend on the shoulder and shook him. The sleeper, a young man whose finely drawn features were clouded with the dregs of wine, muttered something incoherently, and with an impatient twist shifted his body in the capacious arm-chair. Let him alone, Mr. Gay. When a mans in his cups hes best by himself. Twill take him a days snoring to get rid of his bout. The landlord here tells me he walked with the mob from Newgate to Tyburn and back and refreshed himself at every tavern on the way, not forgetting, I warrant you, to fling away a guinea at the Bowl, the Lamb, and the Black Jack over yonder, and drink to the long life of the daring rogue in the cart and the health of the hangman to boot. Long life indeed, my lord. A couple of hours at most. Not that the length of life is to be measured by years. I dont know but what its possible to cram ones whole existence into a few hours, thanks to that thief of time, rejoined John Gay pointing to the bottle on the table</p>(*_*)9781465548603_<p>IF YOUR NAME ISNT POLLY IT OUGHT TO BE "As pretty a wench as man ever clapped eyes on. Wake up, Lance, and look at her." The portly man of genial aspect sitting in the corner of the bow window of the Maiden Head Inn at the High Street end of Dyott Street in the very heart of St. Giles, clapped his sleeping friend on the shoulder and shook him. The sleeper, a young man whose finely drawn features were clouded with the dregs of wine, muttered something incoherently, and with an impatient twist shifted his body in the capacious arm-chair. "Let him alone, Mr. Gay. When a mans in his cups hes best by himself. Twill take him a days snoring to get rid of his bout. The landlord here tells me he walked with the mob from Newgate to Tyburn and back and refreshed himself at every tavern on the way, not forgetting, I warrant you, to fling away a guinea at the Bowl, the Lamb, and the Black Jack over yonder, and drink to the long life of the daring rogue in the cart and the health of the hangman to boot." "Long life indeed, my lord. A couple of hours at most. Not that the length of life is to be measured by years. I dont know but what its possible to cram ones whole existence into a few hours, thanks to that thief of time," rejoined John Gay pointing to the bottle on the table</p>...9781465548603_Library of Alexandrialibro_electonico_77526a44-fe95-49d8-9274-ed86d010dc59_9781465548603;9781465548603_9781465548603Charles EdwardInglésMéxicohttps://getbook.kobo.com/koboid-prod-public/markmoxford-epub-dd204463-7e24-4c96-8fb2-e4d5cc51a458.epub2021-02-24T00:00:00+00:00Library of Alexandria