She reflected before answering. 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. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. ‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. I step on my neighbour's feet, return and apologize because my acquired conscience orders me to do so; whereas you might pass on without caring if your neighbour hopped about on one foot.
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