Alas there must be ten sentences in Ronald Conway’s autobiography which begins with ‘Alas’. Yes, it is a buoyant, if absurd book, not a dirge, and the most interesting lass in it is 'a lady named Audrey’ (no surname), a reputed psychic and palmiste (excuse me, ladies!), who gave Conway a ‘reading’ in 1958 (he was then over 30) and told him that he ‘wore ... a sinister aura of mental ...
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