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history was called for, and when he said he had 'accidentally' killed a
man, considerable satisfaction was expressed; when he added that the man
was a priest, he was roundly applauded, and had to take a drink with
everybody. Old acquaintances welcomed him joyously, and new ones were
proud to shake him by the hand. He was asked why he had 'tarried away so
many months.' He answered--
"London is better than the country, and safer, these late years, the laws
be so bitter and so diligently enforced. An' I had not had that
accident, I had stayed there. I had resolved to stay, and never more
venture country-wards--but the accident has ended that."
He inquired how many persons the gang numbered now. The 'ruffler,' or
chief, answered--
"Five and twenty sturdy budges, bulks, files, clapperdogeons and
maunders, counting the dells and doxies and other morts. {7} Most are
here, the rest are wandering eastward, along the winter lay. We follow at
dawn."
"I do not see the Wen among the honest folk about me. Where may he be?"
"Poor lad, his diet is brimstone, now, and over hot for a delicate taste.
He was killed in a brawl, somewhere about midsummer."
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