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.