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No drinking until five and it's always five or so something or other; hours, years, seconds or maybe apples or peaches which can't be divided into one another or multiplied for that matter—one never knows, and even fewer care these days at least so it seems which may or may not be obvious to the casual (or otherwise) observer. And so we'll raise our glass it being now five past five in the P.M. of our Lord nineteen hundred and the devil may (he will anyway) take the rest. So drink hearty gentlemen and the ladies too for the glass is falling and the sand is scattered on the dusty floor...

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