Word: vagabonder
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...great man was explaining the custom of "plucking," but the Vagabond heard not. Somewhere in the vague hinterland beyond the anti-macasser and the cupped ear was a rocking chair. The distance, he remembers, was not great, nor for that matter was the "Half a league Onward," up on the thin green brink of his saucer, however, there teetered an incoherent mass which adicts style cake. It is all very hazy; there were a thousand eyes, and two red ears, a sharp grunt from the possessor of an abused bunion, and then the muffled howl of some lonely offstage Phantom...
...great man was explaining the custom of "plucking," and the Vagabond listened. Outside those blood red curtains, snow was whirling to the gentle stop that tomorrow would be mud, but within there was a sort of dark brown warmth. To be sure, there was bric-a-brac, there was the sky blue oriental, there were landscapes, and there were the chandeliers, but this did not matter; for there were outstretched legs with two shiny boots at their ends, and there was the cupped ear. "Liquid jade," he mused, and was reconciled...
...talk Shapley pointed out that three things among the many that confuse astronomers are (1) The origin, nature, and persistence of Cosmic meteors, appearing in the earth's atmosphere, coming from interstellar space and wholly independent of the solar system; (2) The existence of vagabond stars, intergalactic tramps, at the borders of the galaxy; and (3) The groupings and streams of the galaxies throughout the metagalactic structure, where we should expect uniform individual distribution...
...there is a golden book, the vade mecum of everything worth keeping by in life, it is the memories of men known. This is the Vagabond's creed. Today his spirit will haunt old McKinlock, and perhaps will gain, as William Butler Yeats himself was the gainer from those afternoons at the stable beside Kelmscott House...
...nearly given up when another of those depressing waves reminded him. Punch, the hair of the dog! He leafed it through, enjoying the comfortable, gouty advertisements, all of health bread or tyres, or Haig, all with the chorus, the eternal chorus, Made in England. The Vagabond settled more evenly in the luxuries which They Won't Be Able to Have When They Graduate and ran through the Charivaria. English wit, English witl He glanced once again at the little man on the ass, just beneath Mr. Punch on the cover, and buried himself in Lalage's letter. England...