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  </ul>brawler more stalwart of stature and limb. That it irk'd him,Lucile_91, in truth, you at times could divine, For when low was the music,<p></p><p>jordanspacejam.com</p><p></p>, and spilt was the wine, He would clutch at the garment, as though it oppress'd And stifled some impulse that choked in his breast.<br>X.<br>What! he, . . . the light sport of his frivolous ease! Was he, too, a prey to a mortal disease? My friend, hear a parable: ponder it well: For a moral there is in the tale that I tell. One evening I sat in the Palais Royal, And there, while I laugh'd at Grassot and Arnal, My eye fell on the face of a man at my side; Every time that he laugh'd I observed that he sigh'd, As though vex'd to be pleased. I remark'd that he sat Ill at ease on his seat, and kept twirling his hat In his hand, with a look of unquiet abstraction. I inquired the cause of his dissatisfaction. "Sir," he said, "if what vexes me here you would know, Learn that, passing this way some few half-hours ago,<p></p><p>cheap jordan shoes</p><p></p>, I walk'd into the Francais,Lucile_91, to look at Rachel. (Sir, that woman in Phedre is a miracle!)--Well, I ask'd for a box: they were occupied all: For a seat in the balcony: all taken! a stall: Taken too: the whole house was as full as could be,-- Not a hole for a rat! I had just time to see The lady I love tete-a-tete with a friend In a box out of reach at the opposite end: Then the crowd push'd me out. What was left me to do? I tried for the tragedy . . . que voulez-vous? Every place for the tragedy book'd! . . . mon ami. The farce was close by: . . . at the farce me voici. The piece is a new one: and Grassot plays well: There is drollery, too, in that fellow Ravel: And Hyacinth's nose is superb: . . . yet I meant My evening elsewhere, and not thus to have spent. Fate orders these things by her will, not by ours! Sir, mankind is the sport of invisible powers."<br>I once met the Duc de Luvois for a moment; And I mark'd, when his features I fix'd in my comment, O'er those features the same vague disquietude stray I had seen on the face of my friend at the play; And I thought that he too, very probably, spent His evenings not wholly as first he had meant.<br>XI.<br>O source of the

  </ul>brawler more stalwart of stature and limb. That it irk'd him,Lucile_91, in truth, you at times could divine, For when low was the music,<p></p><p>jordanspacejam.com</p><p></p>, and spilt was the wine, He would clutch at the garment, as though it oppress'd And stifled some impulse that choked in his breast.<br>X.<br>What! he, . . . the light sport of his frivolous ease! Was he, too, a prey to a mortal disease? My friend, hear a parable: ponder it well: For a moral there is in the tale that I tell. One evening I sat in the Palais Royal, And there, while I laugh'd at Grassot and Arnal, My eye fell on the face of a man at my side; Every time that he laugh'd I observed that he sigh'd, As though vex'd to be pleased. I remark'd that he sat Ill at ease on his seat, and kept twirling his hat In his hand, with a look of unquiet abstraction. I inquired the cause of his dissatisfaction. "Sir," he said, "if what vexes me here you would know, Learn that, passing this way some few half-hours ago,<p></p><p>cheap jordan shoes</p><p></p>, I walk'd into the Francais,Lucile_91, to look at Rachel. (Sir, that woman in Phedre is a miracle!)--Well, I ask'd for a box: they were occupied all: For a seat in the balcony: all taken! a stall: Taken too: the whole house was as full as could be,-- Not a hole for a rat! I had just time to see The lady I love tete-a-tete with a friend In a box out of reach at the opposite end: Then the crowd push'd me out. What was left me to do? I tried for the tragedy . . . que voulez-vous? Every place for the tragedy book'd! . . . mon ami. The farce was close by: . . . at the farce me voici. The piece is a new one: and Grassot plays well: There is drollery, too, in that fellow Ravel: And Hyacinth's nose is superb: . . . yet I meant My evening elsewhere, and not thus to have spent. Fate orders these things by her will, not by ours! Sir, mankind is the sport of invisible powers."<br>I once met the Duc de Luvois for a moment; And I mark'd, when his features I fix'd in my comment, O'er those features the same vague disquietude stray I had seen on the face of my friend at the play; And I thought that he too, very probably, spent His evenings not wholly as first he had meant.<br>XI.<br>O source of the