Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. " "In whose favour is it made?" he inquired, sternly. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. ” “It’s better to know life than be life. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste.
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