I am thy king, and thou a falseheart traitor.
My bloodleſſe bodie waxeth chill and colde, And with my blood my life ſlides through my wound, My ſoule begins to take her flight to hell, And ſummones all my ſences to depart: […]
As Shadrach watched, a vat came free of its moorings, the gobbly flesh within screaming as the vat fell into the gullet, bouncing off one side, then the other, before disappearing into a pink and hungry darkness
Jones, however, for his part, is sometimes equally inane in criticising Smith, who holds that millions of Germans have now been killed off, that the copper has all been melted down, and that the occupation of Warsaw is the last desperate resort of the Kaiser—or, rather, of the imperial gambler, to use an effective and stylish expression among liripoops; for he derides Smith as an optimist—as if optimism signified a person who holds absurd or addle-headed opinions directly contrary to the clear truth.
the imperial gambler
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