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“Holy shit!” Giggling and snickering was amplified by asbestos tiles and reverberated by metal desks. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. Voilà tout. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open.
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