Of Scotland Yardxx-xx-xx xxx Theftofthe British Crown Jewels

Oh, these maxims applied to the store, I'm going to tell you this week. And see, by him, they, my asking point, the flicker than I let you reply,

the poth of the British crown jewels from the Tower of London. Teen 18, so it's old. Irishman's, why don't the boys, if he went to set desperate lengths to have been, so that he believed what he's wrong, which is associated to never tire.

Trouble, Tom. May I always ask him for trouble? Ah, that's right. Why don't you just let things be? I hope the good of all this scheme and impotence. What's he going to do for you?

Except a stretched neck and the quick exit from life. Was it going to gain for me? My estates, my 500 pounds, you're in gonna tell Stuart and his creatures will storm for me. Block the hides, you know the evil claim against the King, Tom and you know it.

It's the best part of eight years since you lost those estates. What hope is going to give you a buck now? Not mine's got to be a reasonable about these things. The estates are going to come in the press place by Henry Cromwell.

My friend, he can't consider me too lucky to be still alone. That's right. Turn it, you've got a dog's chance. Then turn it through. Ever since you got your ship mixed up in that few times of editing against the Duke of Ireland in Dublin, then the dentist cockingly fought through the coven inters of Fauci and Hills,

the king spies have been on your trail. Is it the two-point-tailing Richard? Sure. I've even heard he whispered this 500 pounds, waiting for the nine-year-of-the-trillion, and hand you over. There's your chin-string. Oh, Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom.