Margot Asquith has not lost her saver. This new book is by turns brilliant, boresome and annoying -- frequently the latter. It is fragmentary, roughly covering her life from girlhood on the border, up to the present, filled with random recollections of a very personal nature about important and interesting people from a wide circle. Frank -- yes -- and a bit vinegary. But she's just as frank about herself, her love affairs in which she acknowledges herself a go-getter, her friendships, her flirtations. She is a free trader, an internationalist, was accused of pro-Germanism, adores politics and loves people. The book is crammed with anecdotes -- some priceless, some dull; and cursed with footnotes. Dogmatic, platitudinous, but likeable none the less.