human
This wine is good, he said, rousing himself.
gpt
Let us have some more. Giulio!
human
Is this the sixth or the seventh?
gpt
Eight with Signor Reanda's, answered the man.
human
But Signor Reanda paid for his as he went out. You have therefore seven. It might be enough.
gpt
Bring seven more, Giulio, said the Scotchman, gravely.
human
It will save you six journeys.
gpt
Does the Signore speak in earnest?
human
You flatter yourself, said Dalrymple, impressively, to the man,
gpt
That is a Homeric order,
human
I think--in fact, I am almost sure--that seven bottles more will produce an impression upon one of us. But I have a decidedly melancholic disposition, and I accustomed myself to Italian wine when I was very young. Melancholy people can drink more than others. Besides, what does such a bottle hold? I will show you. A tumbler to you, and one to me. Drink; you shall see.
gpt
Do you see? Half a tumbler. Two and a half are a bottle. Seven bottles are seventeen and a half glasses. What is that for you or me in a long evening? My blue devils are large. It would take an ocean to float them all. I insist upon going to bed in a good humour to-night, for once, in honour of my daughter's engagement. By the bye, Griggs, what do you think of Reanda?
human
He is a first-rate artist. I like him very well.
gpt
A good man, eh? Well, well--from the point of view of discretion, Griggs, I am doing right. But then, as you may very wisely object, discretion is only a point of view. The important thing is the view, and not the point. Here comes Ganymede with the seven vials of wrath! Put them on the table, Giulio, he said, as the fat waiter came noiselessly up, carrying the bottles by the necks between his fingers, three in one hand and four in the other.
human
They make a fine show, all together,
gpt
And may God bless you! said Giulio, solemnly.
human
If you do not die to-night, you will never die again.
gpt
I regard it as improbable that we shall die more than once, answered Dalrymple.
human
I believe, he said, turning to Griggs,