He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Straw and other combustibles being collected, were placed in the middle of the audiencechamber. And I get myself dirty. Apparently I’m not to exist yet. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. This had well nigh been the case with the carpenter. I had nosebleeds that day and I got halfway up the rope before I fell off.
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