Saturday evening, 28 September Dear Baroness Schey! Your voice on the telephone brought another cheerful sonnet into the world (instead of another arid prose report). In the two days before that I’d started and finished a novella of forty-five pages, so I was tired but in high spirits and feeling fulfilled but also sad and lonely. As I was writing I was completely immersed in my own fictional world, so when I suddenly woke up in the empty house, the real world seemed dreadfully lonely. I wandered about the house like the only boy left alive by the dinosaur in …
master builders, not starched collars – seek the kind