5. tring Quartet

    ell,  your eye over t tubes and trams and omnibuses, private carriages not a feure to believe, landaus  it, o t I begin to s—

    If indeed it’s true, as t Regent Street is up, and treaty signed, and t cold for time of year, and even at t rent not a flat to be  of influenza its after effects; if I betten to e about t my glove in train; if ties of blood require me, leaning foro accept cordially tatingly—

    “Seven years since !”

    “t time in Venice.”

    “And where are you living now?”

    “ell, te afternoon suits me t, t  asking too much—”

    “But I kne once!”

    “Still, the war made a break—”

    If t ttle arro—no sooner is one launc and in addition turned on tric lig a need to improve and revise, stirring besides regrets, pleasures, vanities, and desires—if it’s all ts I mean, and ts, tlemen’s sail coats, and pearl tie–pins t come to t chere?

    Of  becomes every minute more difficult to say   no time it happened.

    “Did you see the procession?”

    “the King looked cold.”

    “No, no, no. But ?”

    “S a  Malmesbury.”

    “o find one!”

    On trary, it seems to me pretty sure t s’s all a matter of flats and s and sea gulls, or so it seems to be for a ting e. Not t I can boast, since I too sit passive on a gilt curning t mistaken, t ively seeking somet?  t of cloaks; and gloves—ton or unbutton? tc elderly face against t ago urbane and flusaciturn and sad, as if in s tuning in te–room? ruments,