only killed tt  door. t muc, and tified ts, but trace of Perrott. Not even a trouser-button to read the burial service over.

    In ternoon I paid my bill and . I didn’t  after I’d paid to cut it out of you try els, and  pretty freely. I left my ne of tackle in my bedroom. Let ‘em keep it. No use to me. It  I’d co teac t. Fat men of forty-five can’t go fis kind of t ’s just a dream, the grave.

    It’s funny o you by degrees.   ual moment, of course, it scared ts out of me, and  from seeing a street-accident. Disgusting, of course. Quite enougo make me fed-up  it  really made much impression.

    But as I got clear of tskirts of Lourned t all came back to me. You kno gets your ts running in a certain rimes ’s a feeling of being able to see tter perspective t I’d been doubtful about I felt certain about noo begin o Loion in my mind. ’s a back to to live, or is it gone for ever? ell, I’d o go back to Lo put Jonao t expect you to follorain of t. And it ucked a corner t I could step back into , and finally I’d stepped back into it and found t it didn’t exist. I’d co my dreams, and lest take t.N.t.

    ar is coming. 1941, ty of broken crockery, and little s of tered accountant’s clerk plastered over t   kind of tter, anyell you ay in Lo’S ALL GOING tO  at terrified of, t you tell yourself are just a nigries. truncs, ting out of bedroom ’s all going to —at any rate, I kne t against it if you like, or look tend not to notice, or grab your spanner and rus to do a bit of