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‘Eh bien. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. ‘If you love me, you will say it, or else I will blow off your head. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. “You permitted me then to call you my friend. We've made a pretty penny by him—sixty guineas this blessed day.
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