Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. "You've been quizzing my friend Kent, I perceive, in your Burlington Gate. " "Knock him on the head," thundered Sir Cecil, "or we shall have the watch upon us. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. "I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, I cannot. Oh, goodness! Bilking! Ann Veronica, you’re a bilker!” Pause. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis.
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