Chapter 93: Champagne

Champagne A Wayfarer’s Story In the year in which my story begins I had a job at a little station on one of our southwestern railways. Whether I had a gay or a dull life at the station you can judge from the fact that for fifteen miles round there was not one human habitation, not one woman, not one decent tavern; and in those days I was young, strong, hotheaded, giddy, and foolish. The only distraction I could possibly find was in the windows of the passenger trains, and in the vile vodk…