Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. And sometimes he overflowed with a peculiarly malignant wit that played, with devastating effect, upon any topics that had the courage to face it. Her eyes were wide and bright. His blood would be sweet with it.
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