Wait: a dozen of Mr.Eglett's cigars.

Brisk with all the orders.

Go.' She turned to Weyburn.

'You pack your portmanteau faster than a servant will do it.' He ran up-stairs.
She was beside the tray to welcome and inspirit his eating, and she performed the busy butler's duty in pouring out wine for him.

It was a toned old Burgundy, happy in the year of its birth, the grandest of instruments to roll the gambol-march of the Dionysiaca through the blood of this frame and sound it to the spirit.