“After all, it’s our honeymoon. At the opening of the van doors and the emergence into the fresh air Ann Veronica’s doubt and depression gave place to the wildest exhilaration. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown.
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