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Drawing near, I saw the fire burned within a small cave beneath the bank, and as I came within its radiance the song broke off suddenly and a man rose up, facing me across the fire and with one hand hid under the flap of his side pocket. "Fibs off your popps, cull!" quoth in the vernacular of the roads. "Here's none but a pal as lacketh warmth and a bite!"
"Considerin' 'im such a werry desp'rit cove an' all an' a pair o' popps in 'is 'olsters as long as your arm they're in the pockets o' my greatcoat yonder you can see 'em stickin' out. Yes, a sweet, pretty bit o' work as ever we done, eh, Jimmy?" "Ar though 'e floored you once." "Aye that was when 'e slipped off the darbies Oh, a desp'rit cove an' the more credit to us!
And thus at last I came upon a glade where burned a fire and beyond this, flourishing a tin kettle in highly threatening fashion, stood a small, fierce-eyed man. "Hold hard!" quoth he in mighty voice, peering at me over the fire. "I've a blunderbuss here and two popps, so hold hard or I'll be forced to brain ye wi' this here kettle.
See! there is lame Jack, who sweeps the crossing in the borough, followed by a lady with her 'six years' darling of a pigmy size, whom she calls 'Little Popps, both hurrying home to dinner after a morning's shopping.
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