He was staring at her, openly gaping. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. We are amiable to one another, but we don’t mix. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. 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.
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