‘But you will not be
in a convent. . ”
“Who are you?”
“I am a friend of Miss Pellissier’s,” Courtlaw answered. Nevertheless it was overwhelming. 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. But from the first her rather old-fashioned conception of life had jarred
with the suburban atmosphere, the High School spirit and the memories of the
light and little Mrs. ”
The talk was animated, and remained always brilliant in form even when it
ceased to be brilliant in substance. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. Tears
began to stream from her cheeks.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 06-07-2024 00:55:26