He loved music generally, but his neighbours in Pennerthon Road, Hampstead, could testify with vehemence and asperity to his preference for that great battle piece. It had led from certain local unpleasantness to a police-court application, having as its object the suppression of Mr Homer Lynne as a public nuisance, and finally to the exchange of lawyers’ letters and the threat of an action in the High Court. That so sympathetic and kindly a gentleman should utterly disregard the feelings and desires of his neighbours, that he should have in his bedroom the largest gramophone that Hampstead had ever known, and a gramophone, moreover, fitted with an automatic arm, so that no sooner was the record finished than the needle was switched to the outer edge of the disc and began all over again, and that he should choose the midnight hour for his indulgence, were facts as strange as they were deplorable. Mr Lynne had urged at the police court that the only method he had discovered for so soothing his nerves that he could ensure himself a night’s sleep, was to hear that thunderous piece.
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