Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering on — Shakespeare, Othello.

The coffee-shops were already crowded with lean and hungry customers, the pipes were filled and lighted, and the coffee smoked in the finjans.

In the neighborhood of Paris there are places appropriated to the reception of the night-soil: it is thrown into reservoirs of no great depth, in comparison with their superficial extent, and of an aggregate cappacity which is such that they will contain the whole of the products collected by the night-man in the course of six months.

It's warm today, so you can probably get away with just wearing a short-sleeved shirt.