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Updated: June 8, 2025
Or the hat is a replica, as it were, of the celebrated design of a period in history. But the erudite subject of women's hats should not be touched upon without a salute to that racy model which crowns the far-famed 'Arriet, whose Bank-holiday attire was so delightedly caressed by the pencil of the late Phil May.
I asked, raising my voice. "Is he in?" The maid's face was as wooden as the door-post. Her mouth, already open, opened still wider and she continued to stare. A step sounded in the dark hall behind her and another voice said, sharply: "'Oo is it, 'Arriet? And w'at does 'e want?" The maid grinned. "'E wants to see MISTER Morley, ma'am," she said, with a giggle.
The place was lonely even at that season. The rush of Londoners had not yet found a way there. To 'Arry and 'Arriet it offered no manner of attraction. The sunset was already over, but there was still a light and glow in the sky. The Dictator looked at his watch. It wanted a quarter to seven there was yet time enough, before returning to dress for the eight o'clock dinner.
The last illusion to forsake a man is the absolute belief in his own refinement. A test experience in other people's poetry is to sit in the pit of a theatre and watch 'Arry and 'Arriet making love and eating oranges simultaneously. 'Arry has a low forehead, close, black, oily hair, his eyes and nose are small, and his face is freckled.
There is a newsgirl who minds a stand here at the corner of Rose and Frankfort Streets who is charming as a type of 'Arriet. She always wears an enormous hat. A fine thing for a 'Arriet to do, I think. Sometimes the stand is minded by her mother. A fine thing for an old body to do, I think. Phil May would have delighted in Frankfort Street. So would Rembrandt.
He had recollected himself. Nevertheless Letty was keenly conscious that it was all most absurd, this sitting on a seat in a public thoroughfare late at night, and behaving like any 'Arry and 'Arriet. "Why, of course we shall be happy," she said, rising with decision as she spoke; "only somehow I don't always understand you, George. I wish I knew what you were really thinking about."
In the novel the characters are the voice, the deeds are the orchestra. But the English novelist takes 'Any and 'Arriet, and without question allows them to achieve deeds; nor does he hesitate to pass them into the realms of the supernatural. Such violation of the first principles of narration is never to be met with in the elder writers.
Doris went back into the house, and, Arthur being no longer in the neighbourhood, allowed herself a few tears. She had never felt so lonely in her life, nor so humiliated. "My moral character is gone," she said to herself. "I have no moral character. I thought I was a sensible, educated woman; and I am just an ''Arriet, in a temper with her ''Arry. Well courage! Three weeks isn't long.
In the novel the characters are the voice, the deeds are the orchestra. But the English novelist takes 'Arry and 'Arriet, and without question allows them to achieve deeds; nor does he hesitate to pass them into the realms of the supernatural. Such violation of the first principles of narration is never to be met with in the elder writers.
"What do you call it, then? An understanding? Or are you just 'walking out' like 'Arry and 'Arriet?" Meg laughed happily. "We love each other we've not got beyond that yet. I suppose we're just 'walking out." "You've told each other about the loving?" Freddy's kindness was bringing something like tears to Margaret's eyes. "Yes. Michael didn't mean to it . . ." she paused. "Oh, I know!
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