If You Think I'm One

A Bad Workman Blames His Tools.

People Who Mattered Could Not Take The Humdrum World. But This Was Not The World, It Was Enchantment; And All Of It Was Mine.

What About The Hero Of The House On The Strand? What Did It Mean When He Dropped The Telephone At The End Of The Book? I Don't Really Know, But I Rather Think He Was Going To Be Paralysed For Life. Don't You?

He Had The Face Of One Who Walks In His Sleep, And For A Wild Moment The Idea Came To Me That Perhaps He Was Not Normal, Not Altogether Sane. There Were People Who Had Trances, I Had Surely Heard Of Them, And They Followed Strange Laws Of Which We Could Know Nothing, They Obeyed The Tangled Orders Of Their Own Sub-conscious Minds. Perhaps He Was One Of Them, And Here We Were Within Six Feet Of Death.

Those Dripping Crumpets, I Can See Them Now. Tiny Crisp Wedges Of Toast, And Piping-hot, Flaky Scones. Sandwiches Of Unknown Nature, Mysteriously Flavoured And Quite Delectable, And That Very Special Gingerbread. Angel Cake, That Melted In The Mouth, And His Rather Stodgier Companion, Bursting With Peel And Raisins. There Was Enough Food There To Keep A Starving Family For A Week.