He had shouted down at least one judge in the Mairie de Luxembourg after a dozen cigars had failed to bring about his ends.
I perceived one tulip in the compressed air to be infected with some mucor or sinew
Edward Churchill still attended to his work in a hopeless mechanical manner like a sleep-walker who walks safely on a well-known round. But his Roman collar galled him, his cossack stifled him, his biretta was as uncomfortable as a merry-andrew's cap and bells.
I hung to th’ Sea god, after strange beseeches, My doublet wringing wet, and cod-piec’t breeches.
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