’m not a  normal times I don’t erests t you  expect a middle-aged seven- pound-a-o  I’ve enougo see t to is being sa ts. I can feel it ’s coming and I can see ter- police and telling you o t even exceptional in t I meet every t. And yet ory till it’s running out of  even see t t tler matters. Refuses to believe t fig  doesn’t enter muco s—  see s.  intelligent person tention to sucler and Stalin  someteous calls ‘ternal verities’  pass a tly as ivated Oxford blokes roll up and doudies full of books, quoting Latin tags and smoking good tobacco out of jars s of arms on t alking to  more c of toed off, as it alo t  o poetry. Finally old Porteous drags anot of t’s ‘Ode to a Nig ).

    So far as I’m concerned a little poetry goes a long  it’s a curious fact t I rateous reading it aloud. tion t  t, of course—used to reading to classes of boys.  somettle jets of smoke coming out, and  it moves  knory is or ’s supposed to do. I imagine it  on some people like music  actually listen, t’s to say I don’t take in t sometimes t brings a kind of peaceful feeling into my mind. On t. But someonig didn’t   felt t try!  is it? Just a voice, a bit of an eddy in t use  be against machine-guns?

    I c ts of Latin and Greek and poetry. And suddenly I remembered t almost t time I  t to t—t about magic casements, or somet struck me. . All people like t are dead.

    It struck me t per of t are dead. e say t a man’s dead ops and not before. It seems a bit arbitrary. After all, parts of your