He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. The condition of the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of the occupants much more cleanly. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street.
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