’ The fellow seized on this. David Courtlaw. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. You say you need a man. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. I saw their boat swept away, and heard the roar of the fall beneath the bridge; and no one, who was present, could doubt the result. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. "I was about to add," continued Gay, "that my opera shall have no music except the good old ballad tunes.
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