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Spilsby took no notice of this, but, seeing some people coming round the corner, commenced to sing out his praises of the specials. 'Ere yer are all 'ot an' steamin', he cried, in a kind of loud bleat, which added still more to his sheep-like appearance: 'Spilsby's Specials oh, lovely ain't they nice; my eye, fine muttin pies; who ses Spilsby's; 'ave one, miss? to Kitty.
'Tis well for thee tha doost not bide wi' his Majesty." Presently a dozen vague ideas began to take form. The man had come to warn him not to join the King at Sutterby. There was some plot against Charles! These stiltwalkers were tools in the hands of the King's foes, who were growing more powerful every day. He would sleep to-night, not at Spilsby, but at Sutterby.
'Oh, it's a wicked world, bleated Spilsby, in a soft voice, looking after the retreating figure. 'I'm sorry for that poor gal I am indeed but this ain't business, and once more raising his voice he cried up his wares, 'Oh, lovely; ain't they muttony? Spilsby's specials, all 'ot; one penny.
'I tell you I ain't agoin' to eat fat, he said, in a hoarse voice, as if his throat was stuffed up with one of his own newspapers. 'I want a special, I don't want a hordinary. 'This are a special, I tells you, retorted Spilsby, ungrammatically, pushing a smoking pie towards the boy; 'what a young wiper you are, Grattles, a-comin' and spoilin' my livin' by cussin' my wictuals.
He had a bundle of newspapers under one arm and his other hand was in his pocket rattling some coppers together while he bargained with the coffee-stall keeper over a pie. The coffee stall had the name of Spilsby inscribed on it, so it is fair to suppose that the man therein was Spilsby himself.
'The chaplain of the prison at Spilsby stated as follows: "I am sorry to observe that the present system of discipline here does not deter people from the commission of crime. Several have said that they would rather come here than go to the Union workhouse." ...
Do you still waylay bishops?" "If aw confessed to Heaven or man, aw would confess to thee, Sir John Enderby; but aw'll confess nowt." "And how know you that I am Sir John Enderby?" "Even in Sleaford town aw kem to know it. Aw stood no further from his Majesty and Lord Rippin'dale than aw stand from you, when the pair talked by the Great Boar inn. Where doos tha sleep to-night?" "At Spilsby."
Here Kitty, who was feeling faint and ill with so much walking, came forward and asked for a cup of coffee. 'Certainly, dear, said Spilsby, with a leer, pouring out the coffee; 'I'm allays good to a pretty gal. 'It's more nor your coffee is, growled Grattles, who had finished his special and was now licking his fingers, 'it's all grounds and 'ot water.
Birth and youthful career of Franklin His service at sea Appointed to survey the Coppermine River His expedition His second expedition to the Arctic regions Made Governor of Tasmania His return The last Franklin expedition. Sir John Franklin, whose Arctic expeditions and their consequences will form the subject of this chapter, was born at Spilsby, in Lincolnshire, on the 16th of April, 1786.
'My betters, scoffed the lady in blue, looking Kitty up and down with a disdainful smile on her painted face; 'where are they, I'd like to know? ''Ere, 'old your tongue, bleated Spilsby, angrily, 'or I'll tell the perlice at the corner. 'And much I care, retorted the shrill-voiced female, 'seeing he's a particular friend of mine.
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