For a big-bellied glass is the palette I use, And the choicest of wine is my colour; And I find that my nose takes the mellowest hues The fuller I fill it—the fuller! IV. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. I am a physician first, which gives the man in me a secondary part. Here one might live the life of golden days.
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