It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of
methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain:
“A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear;
A man scores always, everywhere. You know as well as I do that it was accident. Several prisoners were taken, but the ring-leaders escaped. It gave her great satisfaction to hear that
Madame Chamberlain had spent a night in the county jail,
even if the nocturnal activities picked right up again after
two weeks. Ye gods! what a
wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one
regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against
you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse
confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the
Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the
painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 27-06-2024 20:09:37