She could not see any relief from this anxiety except repayment, and repayment seemed impossible. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. She was as lovely in the spirit as in the flesh.
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