She did not belong either to that gentler but more rhapsodic band who seek to extract strange worshipful music from the male, the xylorimbists or tympanists or flute players.
Haue I not bene / Thy Pupill long? Haſt thou not learn'd me hovv / To make Perfumes? Diſtill? Preſerue?
Where the personal feelings were not engaged, it was also an agreeable pastime to follow his destructive feats; see him annihilate a poetaster, or insinuate away the pretensions of a book-wright.
He slicked his hair back with mousse, but the cowlick still stuck up.
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