ONCE the shyest and most elusive of mortals—member of no trade union or craft—a lonely figure in drawing‐rooms and in the quietness of the London Library—the Reviewer (like some defaulting country parson) finds himself suddenly dragged into court and starred for attention. The public is looking on! The press are there, sniffing out a scandal! “This wretched man,” the prosecution begins. Alas (it soon appears), he's a bad lot: he belongs to the Monstrous Regiment of Reviewers.
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