The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. " "Zounds!" exclaimed Quilt, "did you kill him?" "Not quite," replied Terence, laughing; "but I brought him to his senses. I’ll feel fine as soon as I get out of my wet clothes. He struck out from the shoulder, and the man measured his length upon the pavement. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud.
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