Do you remember how in the old days we used to talk about my first book? Of course it was to be an Oxford novel full of clever little character-sketches--witty but not unkind: of subtle and pleasurable hints at our own adventures, for no one had enjoyed Balliol and the city of Oxford so hugely: of catch-words that repeated would bring back the thrills and the laughter--_Psych. Anal._ and _Steady, Steady!_ of names crammed with delectable memories--the Paviers', Cloda's Lane, and the notorious Square and famous Wynd: of acid phrases, beautifully put, that would show up once and for all those dear abuses and shams that go to make Oxford. It was to surpass all Oxford Novels and bring us all eternal fame.
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