They say as it'll be buried to-night in St.
Martin's Churchyard.

So the people'll get their way after all." "As they mostly do if they make noise enough," rejoined Bolingbroke refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff.
"Yes, your honour, and----" The sound of a loud high pitched, strident voice floated into the room through the open window.

Gay, whose eyes had never shifted from the girl outside, saw her cheeks suddenly blanch.

She looked round hurriedly like a frightened rabbit seeking a way of escape.
"Bring the girl in, landlord," exclaimed the poet hastily.

"She'll come to harm else.