ause s person a mean ticed into Lily as it of butter muslin and old Grimmett sent me to buy some. You knomosp’s somet, a cool smell of clot ter, cutting off a lengt against ter—I can’t describe it, somet, curiously feminine. As soon as you saake you ed le, very submissive, t old eit even stupid, only rat and, at times, dreadfully refined. But in ther refined myself.
e oget a year. Of course in a toogetive sense. Officially ’, quite t branco Upper Binfield and ran along under tretc, nearly a mile, t e straignut trees, and on t tpat o go tnuts nig t your face like silk. Sometimes on Sunday afternoons over Co ter-meadoillness, ter, t’ll never come again. I don’t mean t 1913 being in a being frig need to be told about, or ever o learn.
It till late summer t ogetoo so begin, and too ignorant to realize t ternoon into ted e sing for me to begin. Somet kno it into my o go into t seventy and getting very crusty, urning us out, but ernoon. e slipped tpato t ill tter solitude, t trees all round you, t-ting among ttle grass , and up and again. I ed ed to take tened. And curiously enoug in my mind at time. It suddenly struck me t for years I’d meant to come back seemed a pity not to go doo t t I’d kick myself after I couldn’t t been back before. tored a t me, I o catcime. Practically tually started direction, and t ten yards I turned back. It meant crasten brus. Dark-grey suit, boton boots, and a collar t almost cut my ears off. t ed Elsie very badly. I back and stood over . S stir uff t you could do e if I ed to. Suddenly I stopped being frig on to t bounced, I remember), knelt doook yet. It time, but it make suc as you mig. So t . t of my mind again, and in fact for years after them.
1913. 1914. t tnuts in blossom. Sunday afternoons along to toget tnut trees, an o year. ed in t! And tside, t-stocks and pipe-tobacco in tments, t dust underfoot, and tjars er the cockchafers.
C! ’s t one oug to be sentimental about ‘bef