But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Some of them are now buried at the bottom of the Thames. But, if I were in your place, I know what I'd do—" "What—what would you do?" asked Hogarth, eagerly. Places, I found, were daily given away, And yet no friendly gazette mentioned Gay.
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