When potentates arrived at Louie’s gate they frequently were treated decently from carriage to the crux of the estate through spacious links to be connected to the presence on the throne that blanketed the monarchy alone.
But only those whose social pedigree was highest shelf according to their wealth were met with individual esprit and ushered by the king himself through each palatial post from in to out at every station on the winding route.
A remnant of the ritual remains, a quiddity that, like a whispered plea, still echoes from the rural Georgia plains with matchless hospitality in gracious deference to who you are: “Allow me to escort you to your car.”
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