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The local directory is a useful institution to the stranger, but the intimate directory of suburbia, the libellous "Who's Who," has never and will never be printed. Set in parallel columns, it must be clear to the meanest intelligence that, given a free hand, the directory editor could produce a volume which for sparkle and interest, would surpass the finest work that author has produced, or free library put into circulation.
In this pretty thoroughfare with its £100 p.a. houses (detached), its tiny carriage drives, its white muslin curtains hanging stiffly from glittering brass bands, its window boxes of clustering geraniums and its neat lawns, it was a tradition that no one house knew anything about its next-door neighbour-or wanted to know. You might imagine, did you find yourself deficient in charity, that such a praiseworthy attitude was in the nature of a polite fiction, but you may judge for yourself. The news that No. 64, for so long standing empty, and bearing on its blank windows the legend "To Let-apply caretaker," had at length found a tenant was general property on September 6. The information that the new people would move in on the 17th was not so widespread until two days before that date. Master Willie Outram (of 65, "Fairlawn ") announced his intention of "seeing what they'd got," and was very promptly and properly reproved by his mother. "You will be good enough to remember that only rude people stare at other people's furniture when it is being carried into the house," she admonished icily; "be good enough to keep away, and if I see you near 64 when the van comes I shall be very cross." Which gives the lie to the detractors of Kymott Crescent. Her next words were not so happily chosen. "You might tell me what She's like," she added thoughtfully. To the disgust of Willie, the van did not arrive at 64 until dusk. He had kept the vigil the whole day to no purpose. It was a small van, damnably small, and I do not use the adverb as an expletive, but to indicate how this little pantechnicon, might easily have ineffaceably stamped the penury of the new tenants.
The local directory is a useful institution to the stranger, but the intimate directory of suburbia, the libellous "Who's Who," has never and will never be printed. Set in parallel columns, it must be clear to the meanest intelligence that, given a free hand, the directory editor could produce a volume which for sparkle and interest, would surpass the finest work that author has produced, or free library put into circulation.
The Duke de Montvillier and George Hankey, who discovered silver in Los Madges, have moved into Kymott Crescent. Alicia Terrill, widow and relation of Sir Harry Tanner, finds the Duke a distinctly unpleasant neighbour. Sir Harry's son is sent to intervene. Unannounced, Sir Harry arrives with a stranger. 'The coming of Big Bill Slewer, ripe for murder and with the hatred he had accumulated during his five years' imprisonment', has played splendidly into his hands.
DIVHistorical and theoretical essays on television and media culture by a leading feminist studies scholar./div