Explore "The Lake of Wine" by Bernard Capes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Well," cried Creel, "you have sown your wild oats and reaped a whirlwind; and now at last is the calm; and you shall sit under your fig-tree and grow fat."
"Never, my old friend. We shall come and go like the swallows, and build under the eaves of the world."