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Mrs Frederick Vanderbilt was even more original. She had been told that Venetian beauties of the Renaissance liked to toy with a single jewel. So she walked majestically through the lobby with a string of pearls that went to her ankles, kicking before her a huge uncut ruby. Although the grandes dames of New
Here we have a state three millions of whose citizens are languishing in foreign exile; whose intelligentsia have been methodically destroyed; a state nearly half a million of whose citizens, reduced to servitude for their political opinions are rotting and freezing through the Arctic night; toiled to death in forests, mines and quarries for indulging in that freedom of thought which has gradually raised man above beast. Is it not strange that decent British men and women can be so airily detached from realities that they have no word of honest indignation for all these agonies?

