“It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. ‘Don’t dare address me by such a title. ” “Would not do what?” “Well, follow buses from Russell Square to Hampstead. You have made for yourself a unique place upon the stage. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. 17 up-train. ‘I think it is better if I hold the pistol.
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