’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. 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. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain. For many of them it will smirch us forever. "I thought we were going to have some music," she said. " "Better eat these, even if you don't want them," she urged. 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. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask.
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This video was uploaded to borgodeltaglio.com on 08-06-2024 15:32:10
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