When the bottles made their first round at dessert, the clock on the mantel-piece only struck eight.
I counted the strokes, and felt certain, from the expression of his face, that the other junior guest, who sat on one side of me at the round table, was counting them also.

When we came to the final eight, we exchanged looks of despair.

"Two hours more of this! What on earth is to become of us ?" In the language of the eyes, that was exactly what we said to each other.
The wine was excellent, and I think we all came separately and secretly to the same conclusion--that our chance of getting through the evening was intimately connected with our resolution in getting through the bottles.
As a matter of course, we talked wine.

No company of Englishmen can assemble together for an evening without doing that.

Every man in this country who is rich enough to pay income-tax has at one time or other in his life effected a very remarkable transaction in wine.