No, there would be too many of them! It would be the houses that he had never entered that would become famous. "Only house in South London that Harris never had a drink in!" The people would flock to it to see what could have been the matter with it.
How poor weak – minded King Edwy must have hated Kyningestun! The coronation feast had been too much for him. Maybe boar’s head stuffed with sugar – plums did not agree with him (it wouldn’t with me, I know), and he had had enough of sack and mead; so he slipped from the noisy revel to steal a quiet moonlight hour with his beloved Elgiva.
Perhaps, from the casement, standing hand – in – hand, they were watching the calm moonlight on the river, while from the distant halls the boisterous revelry floated in broken bursts of faint – heard din and tumult.
Then brutal Odo and St. Dunstan force their rude way into the quiet room, and hurl coarse insults at the sweet – faced Queen, and drag poor Edwy back to the loud clamour of the drunken brawl.
Years later, to the crash of battle – music, Saxon kings and Saxon revelry were buried side by side, and Kingston’s greatness passed away for a time, to rise once more when Hampton Court became the palace of the Tudors and the Stuarts, and the royal barges strained at their moorings on the river’s bank, and bright – cloaked gallants swaggered down the water – steps to cry: "What Ferry, ho! Gadzooks, gramercy."
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