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He had been so interested in holding the mysterious phial to the lamp, as a drinker holds up the wine-bottle at the end of a meal, that he had not seen his father's eyes fade. The cowering poodle looked from his master to the elixir, just as Don Juan himself glanced again and again from his father to the flask. The lamplight flickered. There was a deep silence; the viol was mute.
The novelist, who describes her beauty, says that his heroine is a fairy, and HAS NO HEART. I think the intimacy which is begotten over the wine-bottle, is a spirit of this nature; I never knew a good feeling come from it, or an honest friendship made by it; it only entices men and ruins them; it is only a phantom of friendship and feeling, called up by the delirious blood, and the wicked spells of the wine.
D'you remember that man who took the bite out of our wine-bottle ...He didn't give a hoot in hell, did he? Talk about expression. Why don't you express that? I think that's the turning point of your career. That's what made you come to Paris; you can't deny it." They both laughed loudly rolling about on their chairs.
And she pushed Mademoiselle Athenais and Mademoiselle Emilie toward the door of their room, where she entered with them. As to D'Harmental, he felt a violent desire to break Boniface's head with a wine-bottle. Nevertheless, seeing the absurdity of the situation, he made an effort and restrained himself.
He reflected suddenly that that was where the Curlew was stationed. And Dickie Lang was on the Curlew. Why had the girl persisted in her determination to take an active part in the conflict? Perhaps she might be already wounded. Hit by a piece of flying iron or a wine-bottle. "How about it?" Howard's voice recalled him to his plan of battle. Gregory looked hastily along his front line.
One of them was driving the reaping machine and looked like a gunner on his limber, with his kepi thrust to the back of his head. The trousers of his comrades were as red as the poppies that grew on the edge of the wheat, and three of these poilus had ceased their work to drink out of a leather wine-bottle which had been replenished from a hand-cart.
The receiver of the wine-bottle signed a small paper in exchange for it and wrote largely a number on the label of the bottle; then, staring at the number and fearing that after all it might be misread by a stupid maid or an unscrupulous compeer, he would re- write the number on another part of the label, even more largely. Matthew Peel-Swynnerton obviously did not belong to this world.
He was, as I am, a sailor; he had command of a vessel at the age of nineteen; but he gave up the sea, and earned a livelihood in that city for some months by painting and selling water-colour sketches, at which he was remarkably clever. Gradually his downward course began. The wine-bottle, the gaming-table, were the first milestones on the road to ruin.
"Yes, you have, Dave," cried Dick, tugging the wine-bottle from his pocket. "Here's some." "Eh? Is that powder or drink?" said the man, taking the bottle and giving it a shake. "It arn't full, though." "No, it isn't full," said Dick in a disappointed tone; "but there's a whole pound, and it's the best." "Ah, well, I daresay it'll do," said Dave slowly.
The Mere's broad-hipped figure was an omniscient presence: it hovered at one instant over a steaming saucepan, and the next was lifting a full milk-jug or opening a wine-bottle. Above the clatter of the dishes and the stirring of spoons arose the thick Normandy voices, deep alto tones, speaking in strange jargon of speech a world of patois removed from our duller comprehension.
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