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His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. "She was mine before you ever saw her. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. Places, I found, were daily given away, And yet no friendly gazette mentioned Gay. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me. " Starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the Old Bailey, and crossing Fleet Bridge, "for oyster tubs renowned," the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached Fleet Lane, up which they hurried.
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