I get along with my Mom sometimes, Lucy. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. “Aren’t we all just odds and ends of humanity —the left-overs, you know. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. But no more of that. When she tried to speak she found it difficult. It is the same with animals. “When you loosen the tangle in one place you tie a knot in another.
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