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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER
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<|quote|>CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER</|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?" "No one,
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<|quote|>CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER</|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say,"
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<|quote|>CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER</|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need
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<|quote|>CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER</|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before
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<|quote|>CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER</|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after
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<|quote|>CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER</|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite
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<|quote|>CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER</|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now" "... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's
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<|quote|>CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER</|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one
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A Handful Of Dust
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<|quote|>CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER</|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one
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No speaker
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"Was anyone hurt?"
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John Beaver
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DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?"</|quote|>"No one, I am thankful
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?"</|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver,
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?"</|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?"</|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?"</|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death.
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?"</|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?"</|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now" "... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's that? I forget."
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?"</|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver
|
A Handful Of Dust
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>"Was anyone hurt?"</|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver
|
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"content": "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER<|quote|>\"Was anyone hurt?\"</|quote|>\"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Beaver, \"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up.\" Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. \"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it.\" \"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have.\" \"That's true, my son.\" * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver",
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John Beaver
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"No one, I am thankful to say,"
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Mrs. Beaver
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CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?"<|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say,"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, "except two
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?"<|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say,"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?"<|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say,"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?"<|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say,"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?"<|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say,"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?"<|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say,"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?"<|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say,"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now" "... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's that? I forget." "Tony Last." "Yes, of course. She's lovely,
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?"<|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say,"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made
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A Handful Of Dust
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?"<|quote|>"No one, I am thankful to say,"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made
|
{
"messages": [
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"content": "You are helpful",
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"content": "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\"<|quote|>\"No one, I am thankful to say,\"</|quote|>said Mrs Beaver, \"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up.\" Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. \"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it.\" \"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have.\" \"That's true, my son.\" * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. \"What was your evening?\" \"Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet.\" \"I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made",
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|
Mrs. Beaver
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said Mrs Beaver,
|
No speaker
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I am thankful to say,"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost
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"Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say,"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say,"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say,"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say,"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say,"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say,"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now" "... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's that? I forget." "Tony Last." "Yes, of course. She's lovely, he's rather a
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say,"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his
|
A Handful Of Dust
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say,"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his
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"content": "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\"<|quote|>said Mrs Beaver,</|quote|>\"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up.\" Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. \"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it.\" \"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have.\" \"That's true, my son.\" * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his",
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"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."
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Mrs. Beaver
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to say," said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her
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"No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now" "... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's that? I forget." "Tony Last." "Yes, of course. She's lovely, he's rather a stick. I didn't know you knew them." "Well, I don't really. Tony asked me in Bratt's the other night. He may have forgotten." "Send a telegram and remind them. It is far better than ringing up. It gives them less chance to make excuses. Send it to-morrow just before you start. They owe me for a table." "What's their dossier?" "I used to see her quite a lot before she married. She was Brenda Rex, Lord St Cloud's daughter, very fair, underwater look. People used to be mad about her when she was a
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford
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A Handful Of Dust
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford
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"content": "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Beaver,<|quote|>\"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up.\"</|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. \"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it.\" \"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have.\" \"That's true, my son.\" * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford",
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Mrs. Beaver
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Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.
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No speaker
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Mrs Shutter snaps them up."<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff
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this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take
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drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * *
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thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now" "... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's that? I forget." "Tony Last." "Yes, of course. She's lovely, he's rather a stick. I didn't know you knew them." "Well, I don't really. Tony asked me in Bratt's the other night. He may have forgotten." "Send a telegram and remind them. It is far better than ringing up. It gives them less chance to make excuses. Send it to-morrow just before you start. They owe me for a table." "What's their dossier?" "I used to see her quite a lot before she married. She was Brenda Rex, Lord St Cloud's daughter, very fair, underwater look. People used to be mad about her when she was a girl. Everyone thought she would marry Jock Grant-Menzies at one time. Wasted on Tony Last, he's a prig. I should say it was time she began
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here,
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A Handful Of Dust
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up."<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here,
|
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"content": "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Beaver, \"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up.\"<|quote|>Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.</|quote|>\"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it.\" \"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have.\" \"That's true, my son.\" * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. \"What was your evening?\" \"Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet.\" \"I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad.\" \"Poor mumsy.\" \"I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here,",
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"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."
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Mrs. Beaver
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and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."</|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as
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carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."</|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you
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everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."</|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant
|
no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."</|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."</|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."</|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."</|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now" "... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's that? I forget." "Tony Last." "Yes, of course. She's lovely, he's rather a stick. I didn't know you knew them." "Well, I don't really. Tony asked me in Bratt's the other night. He may have forgotten." "Send a telegram and remind them. It is far better than ringing up. It gives them less chance to make excuses. Send it to-morrow just before you start. They owe me for a table." "What's their dossier?" "I used to see her quite a lot before she married. She was Brenda Rex, Lord St Cloud's daughter, very fair, underwater look. People used to be mad about her when she was a girl. Everyone thought she would marry Jock Grant-Menzies at one time. Wasted on Tony Last, he's a prig. I should say it was time she began to be bored. They've been married five or six years. Quite well off but everything goes in keeping up the house. I've never seen it but I've an idea it's
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."</|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes
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A Handful Of Dust
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."</|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have." "That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes
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"content": "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Beaver, \"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up.\" Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon.<|quote|>\"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it.\"</|quote|>\"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have.\" \"That's true, my son.\" * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes",
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Mrs. Beaver
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"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."
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John Beaver
|
through my day without it."<|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."</|quote|>"That's true, my son." *
|
know how I should get through my day without it."<|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."</|quote|>"That's true, my son." * * * * * John
|
to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."<|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."</|quote|>"That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded
|
had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."<|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."</|quote|>"That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room)
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."<|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."</|quote|>"That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."<|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."</|quote|>"That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."<|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."</|quote|>"That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now" "... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's that? I forget." "Tony Last." "Yes, of course. She's lovely, he's rather a stick. I didn't know you knew them." "Well, I don't really. Tony asked me in Bratt's the other night. He may have forgotten." "Send a telegram and remind them. It is far better than ringing up. It gives them less chance to make excuses. Send it to-morrow just before you start. They owe me for a table." "What's their dossier?" "I used to see her quite a lot before she married. She was Brenda Rex, Lord St Cloud's daughter, very fair, underwater look. People used to be mad about her when she was a girl. Everyone thought she would marry Jock Grant-Menzies at one time. Wasted on Tony Last, he's a prig. I should say it was time she began to be bored. They've been married five or six years. Quite well off but everything goes in keeping up the house. I've never seen it but I've an idea it's huge and quite hideous. They've got one child at least, perhaps
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."<|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."</|quote|>"That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair
|
A Handful Of Dust
|
CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it."<|quote|>"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."</|quote|>"That's true, my son." * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair
|
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"content": "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Beaver, \"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up.\" Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. \"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it.\"<|quote|>\"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have.\"</|quote|>\"That's true, my son.\" * * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. \"What was your evening?\" \"Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet.\" \"I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair",
"role": "user"
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"content": "John Beaver",
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John Beaver
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"That's true, my son."
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Mrs. Beaver
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to do as you have."<|quote|>"That's true, my son."</|quote|>* * * * *
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mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."<|quote|>"That's true, my son."</|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his
|
close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."<|quote|>"That's true, my son."</|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture
|
cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."<|quote|>"That's true, my son."</|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone.
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."<|quote|>"That's true, my son."</|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."<|quote|>"That's true, my son."</|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."<|quote|>"That's true, my son."</|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations came to him at the last moment; occasionally even later, when he had already begun to eat a solitary meal from a tray... "John, darling, there's been a muddle and Sonia has arrived without Reggie. Could you be an angel and help me out? Only be quick, because we're going in now" "... Then he would go headlong for a taxi and arrive, with apologies, after the first course... One of his few recent quarrels with his mother had occurred when he left a luncheon party of hers in this way.) "Where are you going for the week-end?" "Hetton." "Who's that? I forget." "Tony Last." "Yes, of course. She's lovely, he's rather a stick. I didn't know you knew them." "Well, I don't really. Tony asked me in Bratt's the other night. He may have forgotten." "Send a telegram and remind them. It is far better than ringing up. It gives them less chance to make excuses. Send it to-morrow just before you start. They owe me for a table." "What's their dossier?" "I used to see her quite a lot before she married. She was Brenda Rex, Lord St Cloud's daughter, very fair, underwater look. People used to be mad about her when she was a girl. Everyone thought she would marry Jock Grant-Menzies at one time. Wasted on Tony Last, he's a prig. I should say it was time she began to be bored. They've been married five or six years. Quite well off but everything goes in keeping up the house. I've never seen it but I've an idea it's huge and quite hideous. They've got one child at least, perhaps more." "Mumsy, you are
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."<|quote|>"That's true, my son."</|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations
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A Handful Of Dust
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CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER "Was anyone hurt?" "No one, I am thankful to say," said Mrs Beaver, "except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up." Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. "Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it." "But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have."<|quote|>"That's true, my son."</|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. "What was your evening?" "Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet." "I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad." "Poor mumsy." "I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid." "Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's." "But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out." "Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet." (Most of Beaver's invitations
|
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"content": "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Beaver, \"except two housemaids who lost their heads and jumped through a glass roof into the paved court. They were in no danger. The fire never reached the bedrooms, I am afraid. Still, they are bound to need doing up, everything black with smoke and drenched in water and luckily they had that old-fashioned sort of extinguisher that ruins _everything_. One really cannot complain. The chief rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must get on to them this morning before that ghoul Mrs Shutter snaps them up.\" Mrs Beaver stood with her back to the fire, eating her morning yoghourt. She held the carton close under her chin and gobbled with a spoon. \"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're looking so tired lately. I don't know how I should get through my day without it.\" \"But, mumsy, I haven't as much to do as you have.\"<|quote|>\"That's true, my son.\"</|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved after his father's death. There was little in it to suggest the austerely elegant interiors which Mrs Beaver planned for her customers. It was crowded with the unsaleable furniture of two larger houses, without pretension to any period, least of all to the present. The best pieces and those which had sentimental interest for Mrs Beaver were in the L-shaped drawing-room upstairs. Beaver had a dark little sitting-room (on the ground floor, behind the dining-room) and his own telephone. The elderly parlourmaid looked after his clothes. She also dusted, polished and maintained in symmetrical order on his dressing table and on the top of his chest of drawers the collection of sombre and bulky objects that had stood in his father's dressing-room; indestructible presents for his wedding and twenty-first birthday, ivory, brass bound, covered in pigskin, crested and gold mounted, suggestive of expensive Edwardian masculinity--racing flasks and hunting flasks, cigar cases, tobacco jars, jockeys, elaborate meerschaum pipes, buttonhooks and hat brushes. There were four servants, all female and all, save one, elderly. When anyone asked Beaver why he stayed there instead of setting up on his own, he sometimes said that he thought his mother liked having him there (in spite of her business she was lonely); sometimes that it saved him at least five pounds a week. His total income varied around six pounds a week, so this was an important saving. He was twenty-five years old. From leaving Oxford until the beginning of the slump he had worked in an advertising agency. Since then no one had been able to find anything for him to do. So he got up late and sat near his telephone most of the day, hoping to be rung up. Whenever it was possible, Mrs Beaver took an hour off in the middle of the morning. She was always at her shop punctually at nine, and by half-past eleven she needed a break. Then, if no important customer was imminent, she would get into her two-seater and drive home to Sussex Gardens. Beaver was usually dressed by then and she had grown to value their morning interchange of gossip. \"What was your evening?\" \"Audrey rang up at eight and asked me to dinner. Ten of us at the Embassy, rather dreary. Afterwards we all went on to a party given by a woman called de Trommet.\" \"I know who you mean. American. She hasn't paid for the toile-de-jouy chair covers we made her last April. I had a dull time too; didn't hold a card all the evening and came away four pounds ten to the bad.\" \"Poor mumsy.\" \"I'm lunching at Viola Chasm's. What are you doing? I didn't order anything here, I'm afraid.\" \"Nothing so far. I can always go round to Bratt's.\" \"But that's so expensive. I'm sure if we ask Chambers she'll be able to get you something in. I thought you were certain to be out.\" \"Well, I still may be. It isn't twelve yet.\" (Most of Beaver's invitations",
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"content": "Mrs. Beaver",
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Mrs. Beaver
|
"* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house in Sussex Gardens where they had moved aft(...TRUNCATED)
|
No speaker
| "have.\" \"That's true, my son.\"<|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mother at the house i(...TRUNCATED)
| "much to do as you have.\" \"That's true, my son.\"<|quote|>* * * * * John Beaver lived with his mot(...TRUNCATED)
| "and gobbled with a spoon. \"Heavens, how nasty this stuff is. I wish you'd take to it, John. You're(...TRUNCATED)
| "rooms were _completely_ gutted and everything was insured. Sylvia Newport knows the people. I must (...TRUNCATED)
| "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Be(...TRUNCATED)
| "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Be(...TRUNCATED)
| "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Be(...TRUNCATED)
| "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Be(...TRUNCATED)
|
A Handful Of Dust
| "CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEAVER \"Was anyone hurt?\" \"No one, I am thankful to say,\" said Mrs Be(...TRUNCATED)
| {"messages":[{"content":"You are helpful","role":"system"},{"content":"CHAPTER I DU C?T? DE CHEZ BEA(...TRUNCATED)
|
No speaker
|
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