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Updated: May 21, 2025
This is a book of the highest flavour, full of right hearty merriment, spiced to the palate of the illustrious and very precious tosspots and drinkers, to whom our worthy compatriot, Francois Rabelais, the eternal honour of Touraine, addressed himself.
Pliny's usually pale face was flushed, and his nerves were quivering. How much he wanted every one of these spiced and flavored dainties only his poor diseased appetite knew; how thoroughly dangerous every one of them was to him only his troubled, tempted conscience knew.
"Beans straight!" it was the death knell, for beans straight beans without grease kill the strongest man in a brief span of days. Oh, that the ice bridges would melt, the seas open, the ships come! But that night the men at mess had beans with unlimited grease, its peculiar flavor peppered and spiced out of it. Life, life was to be theirs even yet! What had renewed it?
I promise you when you find yourself saddled with two thousand copies you will feel so sore that it will astonish you, particularly if the book is a little out of the common and not in any way highly spiced." "What!" said the author, "would your worship, then, have me give it to a bookseller who will give three maravedis for the copyright and think he is doing me a favour?
Was it too late for my Desire to come, and time for the coming of that Other? The step of Vere sounded on the gravel path where he walked beneath the window. He was making a trip of inspection, and would find no light shining from the room. I was about to rise and call down a word of reassurance to him, when a current of spiced air passed by me. I sat arrested in hope and expectancy.
Truly, I think such a Narrative, well spiced with a few horrors, and published cum privilegio parliamenti, might, though the market be somewhat overstocked, be still worth some twenty or thirty pieces." "You seem to know me, sir," said Peveril; "and if so, I think I may fairly ask you your purpose in thus bearing me company, and the meaning of all this rhapsody.
He sat with his legs crossed and his hands folded, and a cup of spiced wine stood by his elbow on a bracket on the wall. His countenance had a strong masculine cast; not properly human, but such as we see in the bull, the goat, or the domestic boar; something equivocal and wheedling, something greedy, brutal and dangerous.
Refuse even to allow officers to visit the prisoner, without a special order of the governor. That is all. "Now I am off for a tankard of spiced wine, which I think I have earned well, for it is a good hour after my time of relief." Then Philip heard his footsteps descending the stairs, while the man who had relieved him walked briskly up and down in front of the door.
Again the hoarse cheering burst out from below, and he heard the clang of the rising portcullis. Pressing the veil to his lips, he thrust it into the bosom of his tunic, and rushed as fast as feet could bear him to arm himself and join the muster. The raw morning had broken ere the hot spiced ale had been served round and the last farewell spoken.
Ere the sweat of battle had dried on him, leaning on his axe, he ate the heart of Ngrun after the fight at Hasfarth. Because of mad anger he sold his son, Garulf, into slavery to the Juts. I remember, under the smoky rafters of Brunanbuhr, how he used to call for the skull of Guthlaf for a drinking beaker. Spiced wine he would have from no other cup than the skull of Guthlaf.
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