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Updated: June 21, 2025
At the foot Madinier wished to pay, but Coupeau interfered and put into the hand of the guard twenty-four sous two for each person. It was now half-past five; they had just time to get to the restaurant, but Coupeau proposed a glass of vermouth first, and they entered a cabaret for that purpose.
A crowd of people, mostly foreigners, were sitting about the place. Julien, as he sipped his vermouth, noticed a familiar face nearly opposite him a young, somewhat sandy-complexioned man, quietly dressed, insignificant, and yet with some sort of personality. "I wonder who that fellow is?" he remarked. "I seem to know his face." Kendricks looked incuriously across the room.
"We shan't get a table at all at the place where I am going to take you to dine, unless we are punctual." They finished their vermouth and left the cafe. Kendricks knocked out the ashes from his pipe and leaned a little forward in the taxicab.
It was the hour before dinner. We drank vermouth. Those who knew Rothenstein were pointing him out to those who knew him only by name. Men were constantly coming in through the swing-doors and wandering slowly up and down in search of vacant tables, or of tables occupied by friends. One of these rovers interested me because I was sure he wanted to catch Rothenstein's eye.
Every evening, from five to seven, they fought a decisive battle upon each marble table, sustained by the artillery of the iced decanter which represented Mount Valerien, a glass of bitters, that is to say, Vinoy's brigade, feigned to attack a saucer representing the Montretout batteries; while the regular army and National Guard, symbolized by a glass of vermouth and absinthe, were coming in solid masses from the south, and marching straight into the heart of the enemy, the match-box.
As you go up this street, drawing ever nearer the beginning of the wood, you will arrive at last before an inn where artists lodge. If you go on into the court you will find as many more, some in billiard-room over absinthe and a match of corks some without over a last cigar and a vermouth.
The cocktail that boon to all refined palates, when mixed with artistry and true poetic feeling circulates incognito at Herr Pohnstingl's. Such febrifuges as masquerade under that name are barely recognisable by authentic connoisseurs, by Rabelaises of sensitive esophagi, by true lovers of subtly concocted gin and vermouth and bitters.
I don't want to see Dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect." "Oh, she is more than good she is beautiful," murmured Lord Henry, sipping a glass of vermouth and orange-bitters. "Dorian says she is beautiful; and he is not often wrong about things of that kind.
A number of tables were set out, but there were few people sitting at them. She felt tired. She crossed the road, went to a table, and sat down. A waiter came up and asked her what she would have. "Acqua fresca," she said. He looked surprised. "Oh then wine, vermouth anything!" He looked more surprised. "Will you have vermouth, Signora?" "Yes, yes vermouth."
As we left the ante-room and sat down to Mess, Doe announced: "I've every intention of getting tight to-night." "Pourquoi pas?" said I. "C'est la guerre!" "Before I die," continued Doe, who was already flushed with gin and vermouth, "I want to have lived. I want to have touched all the joys and experiences of life. Pass the Chablis. Here's to you, Rupert. Cheerioh!"
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