In an English Garden This is a riotous assembly of fashionable people, of both sexes, at a private house, consisting of some hundreds, not unaptly stiled a drum, from the noise and emptiness of the entertainment. Tobias Smollett: Advice, a Satire 1 ‘Well, Well,’ said Fen. He folded up the last of the Western Morning Newses, shuffled the pile together and put it back on the floor. Beside him on the chesterfield the cat Stripey had rolled over on to his back and was sleeping with his paws in the air, at intervals offering up faint moans of pleasure or dismay: possibly he was empathizing, in dreams, the mixed emotions of the females he dutifully trod. Late-rose-scented, a gentle breeze stirred the Dickinsons’ living-room curtains. All around stood post-war British fiction, unstably heaped, cross-lit by autumn sunshine. ‘Mortimer, Penelope,’ Fen said. ‘Different again,’ he told the cat, ‘different again is Penelope Mortimer, whose achievement is marred, is heightened, has been to, in part derives from.’ He stroked the cat’s stomach, stopping the moans and inducing instead a jerky, metallic purring, like small cog-wheels unsatisfactorily meshed.
What do You think about The Glimpses Of The Moon (1977)?
