"'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. She leaned back in the corner of the cab with a little sigh of relief. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames.
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