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806 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1931
"The night was an unwritten poem — the gleam and drip of the light like the play of an incoherent mind, fluttering, slipping in and out of reality; never at rest; never the firm silver of true metal; burnished and gone like a dream."
England’s still aristocratic underneath. All that keeps us going comes from the top. Service and tradition still rules the roost.