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"
The art of window dressing is in its infancy, O' Man--in its blooming
Infancy. All balance and stiffness like a blessed Egyptian picture. No
Joy in it, no blooming Joy! Conventional. A shop window ought to get
hold of people, 'grip 'em as they go along. It stands to reason.
Grip!"
His voice would sink to a kind of quiet bellow. "Do they grip?"
Then after a pause, a savage roar; "Naw!"
"He's got a Heavy on," said Mr. Polly. "Go it, O' Man; let's have some
more of it."
"
Look at old Morrison's dress-stuff windows! Tidy, tasteful, correct,
I grant you, but Bleak!" He let out the word reinforced to a shout;
"
"
"
Bleak!"
Bleak!" echoed Mr. Polly.
Just pieces of stuff in rows, rows of tidy little puffs, perhaps one
bit just unrolled, quiet tickets."
"Might as well be in church, O' Man," said Mr. Polly.
"A window ought to be exciting," said Parsons; "it ought to make you
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