Paul Williams: The Dwarf Genus
Andrew Tyler, Disc, 8 July 1972
HE WAS hanging out in one of those saucy marble and satin masterpieces tucked away neatly behind Piccadilly. His suite, equipped with Scotch, peanuts, a piano and a couple of hundred square feet of bed, was a handy refuge where he could observe the week's gala performance. The sun was showing itself. Dogs and small children were advised not to be alarmed.
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