I remember—it must have been when I was at school because I don’t go in for that sort of thing very largely nowadays—reading a poem or something about something or other in which there was a line which went, if I’ve got it rightly, “Shades of the prison house begin to close upon the growing boy.” Well, what I’m driving at is that during the next two weeks that’s exactly how it was with me.
How satisfying to read about intimations of immortality sprouting again like asparagus in springtime! Wordsworth would be bounding about like a lamb to the tabor' sound at the sight of Aunt Agatha getting it where it does most good. An additional source of gratification is the trust Jeeves has in Wooster, or rather in his own ability to manipulate the events in such a way that the eyesore of the day (or week, or month) is finally erased from the landscape. Feudal spirit is indeed a concept which travels in both directions, to the advantage of all...
How satisfying to read about intimations of immortality sprouting again like asparagus in springtime! Wordsworth would be bounding about like a lamb to the tabor' sound at the sight of Aunt Agatha getting it where it does most good. An additional source of gratification is the trust Jeeves has in Wooster, or rather in his own ability to manipulate the events in such a way that the eyesore of the day (or week, or month) is finally erased from the landscape. Feudal spirit is indeed a concept which travels in both directions, to the advantage of all...