He was undeniably handsome, and his looks were enhanced by a warm overplus of blood in the cheeks and a certain mellow fire in the eyes.

He was not technically drunk, for he had himself in perfect physical control; but his was the soul-exhilaration which comes of the juice of the grape.

His voice was raised the least bit and joyous, and his tongue made quick and witty--just in the unstable condition when vices and virtues are prone to extravagant expression.
As he raised his glass, the man next to him accidentally jostled his arm.

He shook the wine from his sleeve and spoke his mind.

It was not a nice word, but one customarily calculated to rouse the fighting blood.