“Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. I don’t think of you as a kid. \" he replied, though it was obvious that he was lying. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. But the orchestra had never had a finer hour, and everyone was aware of it. Words were given with their original meaning, without their ramifications.
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