It became tom, bot Bedford Park, to say t R. A. M. Stevenson, ter talker. ilde russed up like a turkey by undergraduates, dragged up and doo tub, ed in treets of various tooned, and no ne opposition and at times o see an unpardonable insolence. ematised, a mask o evensons talk became monologue kno, because our one object o stention t failed combat some ne t it had been always so from childhood up.
asy for pasys sake and ertainment in monologue as Louis in poem or story. ? and Suppose you our Bedford Park, surrounded by my broters and a little group of my fatries. t, dressed in suc for tside ter and say My friend Jones is dying for love of you. But descriptions, so full of laug ifully dressed c as t of Stevensons party and mainly I tten a book in praise of Velasquez, praise at t time universal , and to my mind, t o pick its symbols ted, Velasquez seemed t bored celebrant of boredom. I ation, t Stevensons conversational meto my elders and to t o be content ive of youto take sides and ensely disliked by all to be a p, and felt revenged upon a notorious er of romance, fathom.