Mus' speak about it. . . . You just wait till I'm on County
Counshle.'
"I took him by the arm and steered him. I did it beautifully, though
it's undeniable that I had taken wine to excess. I did it so
beautifully that we met not a living soul--or if we did, Otty, I
failed to remark it. . . . I don't suppose it was really happening as
I felt it was happening. I just tell how it felt. . . . Farrell and
I were ranging arm-in-arm through a quarter that had mysteriously
hushed and hidden itself at our approach. There were pianos tinkling
from upper storeys: there were muffled choruses with banjo or guitar
accompaniments humming up from the bowels of the earth: there were
chinks of light between blinds, under doorways, down areas.
There was even a flare of light, now and again, blaring to gramophone
accompaniment across the street from a gin-palace or a corner public.
But the glass of these places of entertainment was all opaque, and
there were no loungers on the kerb in front of any. . . . I held
Farrell tightly beneath the elbow, and steered through this enchanted
purlieu.
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