... Lord Byron five-cent cigar, often burning holes in the covers, which he said was another old trench habit—and that showed what war done to the untainted human soil. Also while smoking in bed he would tell little Keats things no innocent child should hear, about how fine it feels to deflate Germans with a good bayonet. She had never esteemed Lord Byron as a poet, and these cigars, she assures me, was perfectly dreadful in a refined home, where they could be detected ... — Ma Pettengill • Harry Leon Wilson
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