Thou belongest to that hopeless, sallow tribe which no wine of this world will ever warm; and for whom even Pale Sherry would be too rosy- strong; but with whom one sometimes loves to sit, and feel poor - devilish, too; and grow convivial upon tears; and say to them bluntly, with full eyes and empty glasses, and in not altogether unpleasant sadness -- Give it up,
Nem hiszi, hogy megjavultunk, felügyelõ úr?QED QED