Royalty and science never haggled about the value of blood.
A motley crowd saunters along the streets — Lascars off a P. and O., blond Northmen from a Swedish barque, Japanese from a man-of-war, English sailors, Spaniards, pleasant-looking fellows from a French cruiser, negroes off an American tramp.
Death, grim Death, will fold / Me, in his leaden Arms, and preſs me cloſe / To his cold clayie Breaſt: […]
I hated cooking okra because it was so slimy when you first start.
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