Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. “Never. He was absolutely unable to focus his ideas. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. My nerves were in rags. He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her. He would read the jokes and illustrate them; and after a time I could see the point of a joke without having it explained to me.
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