She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. He guided her hand to his crotch, which had already grown in size. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff.
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