"What a nice 'chateau,' 'Margaux' must be," said he, as he laid down his glass.
Send for his coupe, I suppose, or drink Chateau margaux—terrible hardships, truly.
A few paces clears us of the little hamlet of Margaux, with its constant rattle of busy coopers, and we are fairly in the country.
The big bedroom had been made ready, and the parson looked at his '99 port and his '16 Margaux.
There's a crash, and Margaux and Clicquot trickle over the stones of the mine.
