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friend, or perhaps even twelve ... or to be more exact twelve and a half.'
One day the keyword was: Mephistopheles.
`Is he one of your friends?' Gide, who was being cross-examined, was asked.
`So I flatter myself!' Gide affirmed between clenched teeth in his most metallically infernal voice.
I was happy in this new world. Educated until I was eighteen among philosophers and poets in my old Lycee, then suddenly transplanted into a mill and cut off from my favourite occupations, I found again at Pontigny my true environment and thrived visibly there. At Elbeuf my extensive reading had served no purpose and I had to be on my guard against frightening people by my pedantry. At Pontigny all this reading became a factor in my success. I had been invited on the strength of Colonel Bramble as an amusing author but one not to be taken too seriously; what they found was a student of Balzac, which appealed to Gide, a man who knew Tolstoy by heart, which appealed to Martin du Gard. Charles Du Bos, put off by what seemed to him the levity of my first book and also by the fact that I had been one of Alain's students, for whose works and doctrines he had no great regard, remained aloof at first but our mutual friend, Anne Desjardins, seeing that I admired Charlie with all my heart, brought him to me in affectionate repentance before the end of ,the decade'. I made precious friendships that year at Pontigny. On the eve of departure, Andre Gide said to me:
`And what are you writing now?'
`A Life of Shelley.'
`Why don't you come to my place in the country and show it to me? ... I live not far from you.'
`But the book isn't finished. . . . '
`Exactly ... I'm not interested except in unfinished things ... One can still mould them. . .'
I accepted. I had promised to join Janine at Trouville and to spend some time with her at the Hotel Normandy in Deauville. I escaped for three days and went to Gide's home, which was on the other side of the estuary between Le Havre and Fecamp. Not knowing him well as yet, I expected to find ,the house `artistically' decorated in the manner of Paludes, very Nineteen Hundred. I found an old Norman country seat, a

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE friend, or perhaps even twelve ... or to be more exact twelve and a half.' One day what is keyword was: Mephistopheles. `Is he one of your friends?' Gide, who was being cross-examined, was asked. `So I flatter myself!' Gide affirmed between clenched teeth in his most metallically infernal voice. I was happy in this new world. Educated until I was eighteen among philosophers and poets in my old Lycee, then suddenly transplanted into a mill and cut off from my favourite occupations, I found again at Pontigny my true environment and thrived visibly there. At Elbeuf my extensive reading had served no purpose and I had to be on my guard against frightening people by my pedantry. At Pontigny all this reading became a factor in my success. I had been invited on what is strength of Colonel Bramble as an amusing author but one not to be taken too seriously; what they found was a student of Balzac, which appealed to Gide, a man who knew Tolstoy by heart, which appealed to Martin du Gard. Charles Du Bos, put off by what seemed to him what is levity of my first book and also by what is fact that I had been one of Alain's students, for whose works and doctrines he had no great regard, remained aloof at first but our mutual friend, Anne Desjardins, seeing that I admired Charlie with all my heart, brought him to me in affectionate repentance before what is end of ,the decade'. I made precious friendships that year at Pontigny. On what is eve of departure, Andre Gide said to me: `And what are you writing now?' `A Life of Shelley.' `Why don't you come to my place in what is country and show it to me? ... I live not far from you.' `But what is book isn't finished. . . . ' `Exactly ... I'm not interested except in unfinished things ... One can still mould them. . .' I accepted. I had promised to join Janine at Trouville and to spend some time with her at what is Hotel Normandy in Deauville. I escaped for three days and went to Gide's home, which was on what is other side of what is estuary between Le Havre and Fecamp. Not knowing him well as yet, I expected to find ,the house `artistically' decorated in what is manner of Paludes, very Nineteen Hundred. I found an old Norman country seat, a where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Call No Man Happy (1943) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 135 where is p align="center" where is strong HOME-COMING where is p align="justify" friend, or perhaps even twelve ... or to be more exact twelve and a half.' One day what is keyword was: Mephistopheles. `Is he one of your friends?' Gide, who was being cross-examined, was asked. `So I flatter myself!' Gide affirmed between clenched teeth in his most metallically infernal voice. I was happy in this new world. Educated until I was eighteen among philosophers and poets in my old Lycee, then suddenly transplanted into a mill and cut off from my favourite occupations, I found again at Pontigny my true environment and thrived visibly there. At Elbeuf my extensive reading had served no purpose and I had to be on my guard against frightening people by my pedantry. At Pontigny all this reading became a factor in my success. I had been invited on what is strength of Colonel Bramble as an amusing author but one not to be taken too seriously; what they found was a student of Balzac, which appealed to Gide, a man who knew Tolstoy by heart, which appealed to Martin du Gard. Charles Du Bos, put off by what seemed to him what is levity of my first book and also by what is fact that I had been one of Alain's students, for whose works and doctrines he had no great regard, remained aloof at first but our mutual friend, Anne Desjardins, seeing that I admired Charlie with all my heart, brought him to me in affectionate repentance before the end of ,the decade'. I made precious friendships that year at Pontigny. On what is eve of departure, Andre Gide said to me: `And what are you writing now?' `A Life of Shelley.' `Why don't you come to my place in what is country and show it to me? ... I live not far from you.' `But what is book isn't finished. . . . ' `Exactly ... I'm not interested except in unfinished things ... One can still mould them. . .' I accepted. I had promised to join Janine at Trouville and to spend some time with her at what is Hotel Normandy in Deauville. I escaped for three days and went to Gide's home, which was on what is other side of what is estuary between Le Havre and Fecamp. Not knowing him well as yet, I expected to find ,the house `artistically' decorated in what is manner of Paludes, very Nineteen Hundred. I found an old Norman country seat, a where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: Call No Man Happy (1943) books

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