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The worthy man "breferred beer," but had, perhaps, found the wine quicker in effect, and in a tremendous bass voice he roared out, Im tiefen Keller sitz' ich hier, auf einem Fass voll Reben, which, if not wholly understood by the audience, had some of its purport conveyed by the threefold repetition of "trinke" at the end of each verse.
But when the shores of British Guiana had become a muddy-looking horizon line, I found him, with his cropped forehead pressed to the open housewife, shedding bitter tears among the new needles and buttons. "Zur tiefen Ruh, wie er sich auch gefunden. Sein Geist ist's, der mich ruft." Wallenstein's Tod. Not the least troublesome part of our enlarged kit was the collection of gay-plumaged birds.
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