By Sabir Badalkhan
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He had hoped to see leaping from windows and all manner of hot stuff. Near by stood a coloured groom with a horse. The observers concluded that Miss Gish was to do a little galloping shortly. Dactyl and Spondee moved away. Spondee quoted a poem he had once written about Miss Dorothy. He recollected only two lines: She makes all the rest seem a shoal of poor fish So we cast our ballot for Dorothy Gish. Peering again into the dark backward and abysm, it seems that the two rejuvenated gossips trundled up on Lexington Avenue to Alfred Goldsmith's cheerful bookshop.
It's like a long, healthy draught of shellac. It seems to me that it would be less trouble if Page 23 you offered the barkeep fifty cents to hit you over the head with a hammer. " A windy day, and perishing chill, we thought as we strolled through the gloomy caverns and crypts underneath the Brooklyn Bridge. Those twisted vistas seen through the archways give an impression of wrecked Louvain. A great bonfire was burning in the middle of the street. Under the Pearl Street elevated the sunlight drifted through the girders in a lively chequer, patterning piles of gray-black snow with a criss-cross of brightness.
In 1932 Chris wrote a novel which he called Human Being. He was that. ), 11 No. ] Page xv PUBLISHER'S FOREWORD CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY (1890-1957) was, for countless readers, the American man of letters of his generation. Whether they appeared as newspaper and magazine columns, literary essays, novels, or plays, his writings were eagerly awaited and avidly read. Born in Haverford, Pennsylvania, and raised in Baltimore, he was educated at Haverford College and then, as a Rhodes Scholar, at Oxford.