There was no marriage, and I hated, oh, how I hated the man. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. ‘Not if I heard him aright. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled.
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