Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. See paragraph 1. “A man can smoke, a man can swear; A man scores always, everywhere. ‘Ah, bah, it is enough,’ she cried, and turning, ran out of the room.
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