It’s a sort of guarantee of confidence. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends. That's the way she strikes me. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. That's how I finally got wind of it. You should have more. .
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