She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. “Not only that,” he answered. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. "What! you still hesitate! Will that rouse you, coward?" And she gave him a smart rap on the head.
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