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Various

"Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, April 4, 1917"

At last, utterly worn out, in the way that motoring can wear out
body, soul and nerves, and filled with a ravening desire to tear meat limb
from limb, we came to an inn of which our host had the highest opinion--so
high, indeed, that, empty though we were, he had forced the car at
full-speed past at least half-a-dozen admirable but less pretentious
houses, where I, in my small way, had more than once been nourished and
sustained.
When, however, at last we did arrive at his desired haven, late in the
afternoon, when dusk was beginning to fall and blur with her gentle hand
the sharp lines of hill and tree, we acknowledged his wisdom, for in the
window beside the door, where we creakingly but joyfully alighted, were
visible, although no longer distinctly, a vast ham as yet uncut and two
richly-browned cold fowls. "There," said he, with a pardonable triumph,
"didn't I tell you?" and so, our lips trembling with the anticipation of
nutriment, we entered, flung off our wraps, and prepared, on the evidence,
for such bliss as earth too rarely affords.


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