I Stretched Out My Hand Towards The

I Was So Astonished That I Could Think Of Nothing To Say, But Wondered Irrelevantly If I Was To Be Caught With A Teapot In My Hand On Every Dramatic Occasion.

Novel Writing Is A Kind Of Private Pleasure, Even If Nothing Comes Of It In Worldly Terms.

Perhaps There Can Be Too Much Making Of Cups Of Tea, I Thought, As I Watched Miss Statham Filling The Heavy Teapot. Did We Really Need A Cup Of Tea? I Even Said As Much To Miss Statham And She Looked At Me With A Hurt, Almost Angry Look, 'do We Need Tea? She Echoed. 'but Miss Lathbury...' She Sounded Puzzled And Distressed And I Began To Realise That My Question Had Struck At Something Deep And Fundamental. It Was The Kind Of Question That Starts A Landslide In The Mind. I Mumbled Something About Making A Joke And That Of Course One Needed Tea Always, At Every Hour Of The Day Or Night.

There Are Various Ways Of Mending A Broken Heart, But Perhaps Going To A Learned Conference Is One Of The More Unusual.

I Stretched Out My Hand Towards The Little Bookshelf Where I Kept Cookery And Devotional Books, The Most Comfortable Bedside Reading.