The air, too, was heavy with perfume, and a nightingale, high in the heavens, gave out a cheery song of welcome.
It was Oxford now—the matriculation photograph, posed in the stony front quad at Corpus, the pelican on top of the sundial appearing to sit on the head of the lanky, begowned chemist at the centre of the back row.
Coho or Coffee[…]however ingrate or insapory it seems at first, it becomes grate and delicious enough by custom.
There were more marginal notes than text.
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