"Then I would be slap-dashing home, the gravy smell of the dinners of others, the bird smell, the brandy, the pudding and mince, coiling up to my nostrils, when out of a snow-clogged side lane would come a boy, the spit of myself, with a pink-tipped cigarette and the violet past of a black eye"cocky as a bullfinch leering... all to himself." Heady stuff, isn't it? You'll encounter an abundance of such lyricism and re…
SOURCE: TalkinBroadway at 05:14PM on December 8, 2024