It has its
good seasons and its bad, its fluctuations as to standards and
favour, its share in the curious and inevitable tides that swing all
associations back and forth like pendulums.
There is a real passion for dancing in the Village, and it is
beautiful dancing that shows practice and a natural sense of rhythm.
The music may be only from a victrola or a piano in need of tuning,
but the spirit is, most surely, the vital spirit of the dance. At the
Liberal Club everyone dances. After you have passed through the lounge
room--the conventional outpost of the club, with desks and tables and
chairs and prints and so on--you find yourself in a corridor with long
seats, and windows opening on to Nora Van Leuwen's big, bare,
picturesque Dutch Oven downstairs. On the other side of the corridor
is the dance room--also the latest exhibition. Some of the pictures
are very queer indeed. The last lot I saw were compositions in deadly
tones of magenta and purple. The artist was a tall young man, the son
of a famous illustrator.
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