Meysey Hill—never your wife. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone. 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.
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