Let him come over never so lean, and plant him but one month near the brew-houses in St Catherine's, and he will be puffed up to your hand like a bloat herring.

He found a brew pub where he sat at a corner table with a pint of ruby brown alecool and fresh, the malt veiled with lacy astringent hops.

A moment later the scarlet flame was in his arms whirling down the hall to the music of the violins, and Dick, standing apart by the window watching, tasted the dregs of the bitterest brew life had yet offered him.