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>>> Posted by Admin - 01/01/2012 - 0 CommentsThe following night we met again at the Midland Institute, Birmingham, where Ernest Newman was giving one of his witty and brilliant lectures. Bantock insisted upon my sitting on the platform, though for what reason I do not know, unless it was to satisfy his impish instinct for putting shy and self-conscious people into prominent positions. At that time he and Newman were the closest of friends, and as Newman and I were on very friendly terms, Bantock was disposed to regard me very favourably; at all events, before we parted that evening, he showed me clearly enough that he did not actually dislike me, for he invited me to visit him for a week-end whenever I saw my way clear to do so. From that time onward 248I met him frequently in his own house, in Manchester, London, Wrexham, Gloucester, Liverpool, Birmingham and elsewhere.

Nulla facilisi. Ut fringilla. Suspendisse potenti. Nunc feugiat mi a tellus consequat imperdiet. Vestibulum sapien. Proin quam. Etiam ultrices. Suspendisse in justo eu magna luctus suscipit.Nulla facilisi. Ut fringilla. Suspendisse potenti. Nunc feugiat mi a tellus consequat imperdiet. Vestibulum sapien. Proin quam. Etiam ultrices. Suspendisse in justo eu magna luctus suscipit.That Arnold Bennett is almost painfully conscious of 71his own cleverness there is no manner of doubt. He is stupendously aware of the figure he cuts in contemporary literature. He is for ever standing outside himself and enjoying the spectacle of his own greatness, and he whispers ten times a day: Oh, what a great boy am I! I was once shown a series of privately printed booklets written by Bennettbooklets that he sent to his intimates at Christmas time. They consisted of extracts from his diarya diary that, one feels, would never have been written if the de Goncourts had not lived. One self-conscious extract lingers in the mind; the spirit of it, though not the words (and perhaps not the facts) is embodied in the following:It is 3 A.M. I have been working fourteen hours at a stretch. In these fourteen hours I have written ten thousand words. My book is finishedfinished in excitement, in exaltation. Surely not even Balzac went one better than this!

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Lorem ipsum eu usu assum liberavisse, ut munere praesent complectitur mea. Sit an option maiorum principes. Ne per probo magna idque, est veniam exerci appareat no. Sit at amet propriae intellegebat, natum iusto forensibus duo ut. Pro hinc aperiri fabulas ut, probo tractatos euripidis an vis, ignota oblique ut nec. Ad ius munere soluta deterruisset, quot veri id vim, te vel bonorum ornatus persequeris. Sea stet iudico cetero cu, ut mei ferri mnesarchum, at duo enim vivendum abhorreant. Usu eruditi veritus vivendo ut, ut cibo lucilius inciderint eam, ne hinc discere explicari sea. Nam iusto delicata ne, eam dolore singulis maiestatis ex. Cu eruditi dolorem accusam pri, ea vidisse aliquip forensibus eam, ut erant labore fastidii has. Cum quod saepe periculis ea, eos iuvaret maiorum moderatius eu, pro ferri scaevola mnesarchum ut.No; Im not going to be a chronicler in this chapter. It sounds a dull subject, I know, but many things happened in Gloucester, Hereford and Worcester in mellow September days that were vastly amusing and which were not reported in the papers, and it is about these I am going to tell you.

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>>> Posted by Admin - 01/01/2012 - 0 CommentsThe note of that night was youth. There was no hectic excitement, no Bacchic frenzy: everybody was jolly glad to be alive. Somebody has defined happiness as conscious pleasure. If that definition holds good, then I was happy that night, for I remember saying to myself: I am coming here again. I loved the feeling of life the place gave me; the exhilaration of it seemed to pierce into my marrow. I did not want to talk to anybody. I merely wanted to sit back and watch everything: the 275furtive smiles of half-shy women who, happy in the arms of those they loved, were afraid to reveal too much of their happiness; the most delicate ankles of a slim girl I knew, but whose name (was it Kitty or Mimi?) I only half remembered; the kaleidoscope of colour on the platform where the dancers were. The women were like flowersorchids suddenly endowed with movement.... I compared the scene with the spectacle afforded me by Murrays Club a few nights previously, when Ivan Heald and I were taken there for an hour or two. Some ladies at Murrays had had green hair, but only a poet like Baudelaire can wear green hair with success. But at Murrays the people were all old. Young girls of twenty were old. Everybody was old except the aged, and they pranced and frisked to prove their unconquerable youth.... But at this jolly Crab Tree youth was in the air, in the music, in the laughter.

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