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Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion
and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present
it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal
description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those
valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a
swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of
determined women at war with the universe. Now, do
what you please. It seems to me a woman’s duty to be beautiful, to BE beautiful and
to behave beautifully, and politics are by their very nature ugly. He still watched her and questioned her. “It’s—private. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling
strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held
together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal
Handbook. I let him take me to the English
Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. The signs of the
shops were carried to incredible distances. "You are the son of Sir
Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. .
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 02-07-2024 14:20:35