The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Talked about his years, his position and his constituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to begin. Probably a sick man's whim. CHAPTER II.
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