Frank muttered something. Tidings had in some shape reached his ears that his father was not comfortably circumstanced as regarded money.
The other guy, Private Appleton, White calls a “Detroit jive-ass” with a chip on his shoulder for everyone.
It was as alive as the beasts that walked through it, full of zazz and wonder.
“By the end of that week more than 30 galleries ‘uncancelled,’” he said, noting that despite all the grousing over “fair fatigue,” there was still no digital substitute for buying and selling art in the flesh.
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