Another English writer, Nick Harkaway, was even more
enthusiastic in his praise of claret:
"I hover over the expensive Scotch and then the Armagnac,
but finally settle on a glass of rich red claret. I put it near my nose and
nearly pass out. It smells of old houses and aged wood and dark secrets, but
also of hard, hot sunshine through ancient shutters and long, wicked afternoons
in a four-poster bed. It's not a wine, it's a life, right there in the glass."
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