Meet and rejoin me, in the pensive grot:
Perhaps the wine-drinking habit of the French, together with poor quality of water, due to the unsanitary condition of wells and springs in many parts of France, or to other causes, may have something to do with the French minister’s counterblast against the beverage that God made. Habit is a curious thing. Tastes differ. We once knew a retired physician who told the writer that he had not touched a drop of water for thirty-six years! He drank nothing but coffee-potsful of it, hot n winter and iced in summer, and, strange to say, he seemed to thrive on it.
I infuriated them when they came to me by answering only the British officer and acting as if the French one could only understand music-hall pidgin-Franglais (he spoke English perfectly well). “Nice country, non? Mini-skirts, mademoiselles, oo la la. It rains always but plenty jig-jig, wee-wee — you wanna go?”
I went to the park, picked up a low Brimstone, called myself a Barber, & agreed with her for Sixpence, went to the bottom of the park, arm in arm, & dipped my machine in the Canal […].
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