to hear this connected speech from his lips: 'No torches . . . No, that's not it:
"Not vain Corruption's idols frail
Not amaranth nor porphyry
Rejoiced their hearts . . .
One thing in them . . ."
'That was about us. Do you hear?
"One thing in them unquenchable,
Subduing, sweet, desirable,
To nurse their mutual flame in love
And you talk about Agrafena!'
Narkiz chuckled half-contemptuously, half-indifferently. 'What a queer fish it is!' he said to himself. But the brigadier had again relapsed into dejection, the rod had dropped from his hands and slipped into the water.
VIII
'Well, to my thinking, our fishing is a poor business,' observed Cucumber; 'the fish, see, don't bite at all. It's got fearfully hot, and there's a fit of "mencholy" come over our gentleman. It's clear we must be going home; that will be best.' He cautiously drew out of his pocket a tin bottle with a wooden stopper, uncorked it, scattered snuff on his wrist, and sniffed it up in both nostrils at once. . . ' Ah, what good snuff!' he moaned, as he re-
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