ig of teristics. But it’s also a fact t internally, mentally, I’m not altoget. No! Don’t mistake me. I’m not trying to put myself over as a kind of tender flo be get on in t. I’m vulgar, I’m insensitive, and I fit in . So long as any all circumstances I’d manage to make a living—alune—and even in ion, plague, and famine I’d back myself to stay alive longer t people. I’m t type. But also I’ve got somet. I’ll tell you about t later. I’m fat, but I’m t ever struck you t t man, just as tatue inside every block of stone?

    tc eethe Express.

    ‘Legs case don’t seem to get much forrader,’ he said.

    ‘t ‘im,’ said tify a pair of legs? t they?’

    ‘Migrace ‘im t.

    Doretcing t reets, but stretc you could ’s ty miles of   a break. C!  one great big bull’s-eye. And no  conference. Some quiet morning, o the corpses.

    Seems a pity some. I looked at t sea of roofs stretcreets, fried-fisin cure tle printing-sories, blocks of flats, ations—on and on and on. Enormous! And t! Like a great s. No guns firing, nobody cing anybody else up runco t, in t t t a single bedroom window from which anyone’s firing a machine-gun.

    But  five years from nowo years? Or one year?