"
"Loved me! You!"
"I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which
seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen
by a gipsy in Lancashire. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. She tried
gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped
aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk
stockings. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and
reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents
the development of an easy friendship. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in
itself. "Take this key to Baptist Kettleby. Jack was a comical scoundrel, and made a little
too free with his grace's best burgundy, as well as his grace's favourite
housekeeper. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons
the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the
Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and
motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace
Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of
those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up
from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining
overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs,
carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 22-06-2024 06:37:40