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A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. May we not repeat them once, at any rate, in London? “Ever yours, “NIGEL ENNISON. Warren’s Profession furtively with Hetty Widgett from the gallery of a Stage Society performance one Monday afternoon. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. Don't unman him. ” “I think,” Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, “that I must send Nigel to plead his own cause.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 19-09-2024 19:48:26
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