I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. Men and women are not established things; they’re experiments, all of them. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. She had looked forward to an explanation. It’s a world in which the law can be a stupid pig and the police-stations dirty dens. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. They exchanged greetings with the clarinetist.
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