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           Ishallpassfromtheserviceforthemanwhowasdrowned(Ihaveaphraseforthat)toMrsMoffatandhersayings(Ihaveanoteofthem),andsotosomereflectionsapparentlycasualbutfullofprofundity(profoundcriticismisoftenwrittencasually)aboutsomebookIhavebeenreading,someout-of-the-waybook.Iwanthertosayasshebrushesherhairorputsoutthecandle,"WheredidIreadthat?Oh,inBernard’sletter."Itisthespeed,thehot,molteneffect,thelavalflowofsentenceintosentencethatIneed.WhoamIthinkingof?Byronofcourse.Iam,insomeways,likeByron.PerhapsasipofByronwillhelptoputmeinthevein.Letmereadapage.No;thisisdull;thisisscrappy.Thisisrathertooformal.NowIamgettingthehangofit.NowIamgettinghisbeatintomybrain(therhythmisthemainthinginwriting).Now,withoutpausingIwillbegin,ontheveryliltofthestroke--.

           ’Yetitfallsflat.Itpetersout.Icannotgetupsteamenoughtocarrymeoverthetransition.Mytrueselfbreaksofffrommyassumed.AndifIbegintore-writeit,shewillfeel"Bernardisposingasaliteraryman;Bernardisthinkingofhisbiographer"(whichistrue).No,Iwillwritethelettertomorrowdirectlyafterbreakfast.

           ’Nowletmefillmymindwithimaginarypictures.LetmesupposethatIamaskedtostayatRestover,King’sLaughton,StationLangleythreemiles.Iarriveinthedusk.Inthecourtyardofthisshabbybutdistinguishedhousetherearetwoorthreedogs,slinking,long-legged.Therearefadedrugsinthehall;amilitarygentlemansmokesapipeashepacestheterrace.