Citas
Avery watched the lamps come up the street. He was quite young, belonging to that intermediate class of contemporary Englishman which must reconcile an Arts degree with an uncertain provenance.
Очень точно и смешно
not thawing and freezing, but static like a year without seasons.
His voice varied a lot, like the voice of a commercial traveller. His phoney drawl was more extravagant when he addressed his own class, when it was a matter of emphasising a distinction which did not exist; or as now, when he was nervous.
Witty observation
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