My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. Spurling, half aside. Ovarian cancer. It has been a marvellous day—and I am going to England. Also she made little pussy-like sounds of a reassuring nature.
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