to me t my neeeth.

    I remember t about a quarter to eig of bed and got into t in time to s t. It ly January morning, y yellotle square of baten yards by five of grass,   and a bare patc s, and same grass, beche middle.

    I rying to siser ran into t me out of tumbler of er on ttle seet belonged in t emporary set t arner, my dentist, o  go ter-coloured  my teet look my age, wy-five.

    Making a mental note to buy razor-blades, I got into tarted soaping. I soaped my arms (I’ve got t are freckled up to took t reac’s a nuisance, but ts of my body t I can’t reacrut I’m inclined to be a little bit on t side. I don’t mean t I’m like somet a fair. My one, and last time I measured round my  it y-eigy-nine, I forget ingly’ fat, I  got one of t sag o t’s merely t I’m a little bit broad in tendency to be barrel-sive, y kind of fat man, tic bouncing type t’s nicknamed Fatty or tubby and is aly? I’m t type. ‘Fatty’ tly call me. Fatty Bowling. George Bowling is my real name.

    But at t moment I didn’t feel like ty. And it struck me t no  eeter in tumbler, and t me like teet gives you a rotten feeling to , a sort of pincten into a sour apple. Besides, say eet natural tootime  an end. And I  as y-five. As I stood up to soap my crutc my figure. It’s all rot about fat men being unable to see t, but it’s a fact t  me again, unless so. Not t at t moment I particularly ed any o look t me.

    But it struck me t t to ter mood. to begin  oday. trict (I ougo tell you t I’m in t to look in at to drop some papers, I aking to go and fetceet  of my mind for some time past. t I een quid  is. It  rology applied to  it’s all a question of influence of ts on te outsider, but  seemed  ts t o be in t. Mellors, rology business, ting several quid on t doo do to s en bob, t bet as a general rule. Sure enoug t odds, but my s at seventeen quid. By a kind of instinct—rating anot quietly put to anybody. I’d never done anyt it on a dress for ’s my s for t I’d been a good een years and I o get fed up .

    After I’d soaped myself all over I felt better and lay doo t my seventeen quid and o spend it on. ternatives, it seemed to me,  quietly aurned on some more  er and  eps t lead to t  mug. tic stamping outside and then a yell of agony.

    ‘Dadda! I wanna come in!’

    ‘ell, you can’t. Clear out!’

    ‘But dadda! I wanna go somewhere!’

    ‘Go somew. I’m h.’

    ‘Dad-DA! I wanna GO SOME—hERE!’

    No use! I kne  partially dry as quickly as I could. As I opened ttle Billy—my youngest, aged seven—s past me, dodging t   I discovered t my neck ill soapy.

    It’s a rotten to  gives you a disgusting sticky feeling, and t,  aicky for t of t doairs in a bad temper and ready to make myself disagreeable.

    Our dining-room, like ttle place, fourteen feet by t’s ten, and ty decanters and tand t , doesn’t leave muceapot, in ate of alarm and dismay because t tter  lig it ly cold. I bent do a matco t to tle sidelong glance t sravagant.

    y-nine, and  s very tual brooding,  a trick of , like an old gypsy  of foreseeing disasters. Only petty disasters, of course. As for ions, stention to tter is going up, and ts are , and talment due on t’s any. Ss e pleasure out of rocking o and fro , and glooming at me, ‘But, George, it’s very SERIOUS! I don’t knoo DO! I don’t knoo realize  IS!’ and so on and so fort’s fixed firmly in   to t mind it a quarter as muc sy.

    tairs already,  ligo keep anyone else out of t to t table t o tune of ‘Yes, you did!’ ‘No, I didn’t!’ ‘Yes, you did!’ ‘No, I didn’t!’ and looked like going on for t of til I told to c. t’s a peculiar feeling t I o deal of time I can ick t of tion, it’s just unbearable. t t dreary bread-and-butter age op marks in Frenc otimes, especially  feeling. Sometimes I’ve stood over ts, on summer evenings ’s given me t feeling you read about in t says your bo sucimes I feel t I’m just a kind of dried-up seed-pod t doesn’t matter t my sole importance o bring tures into t t’s only at moments. Most of time my separate existence looks pretty important to me, I feel t t and plenty of good times aion of myself as a kind of tame dairy-co of o c appeal to me.

    e didn’t talk muc breakfast.  knoo DO!’ mood, partly oo tter and partly because tmas ill five pounds o term. I ate my boiled egg and spread a piece of bread  in buying tuff. It’s fivepence-ells you, in t print t it contains ‘a certain proportion of neutral fruit-juice’. tarted me off, in tating alking about neutral fruit-trees,  countries til finally  angry. It’s not t s’s only t in some obscure o make jokes about anything you save money on.

    I  t t mucing-room, and King Zog’s  about ten o’clock, ratended, I started out for too play in t ly raepped out of t door a nasty little gust of  fit and t I icky all over.