The poet’s whole frame seemed to hug itself together, to contract, to tighten. Then he said: ‘I’m not in the least annoyed by anyone’s ways. We’re all beetles in the dung of the earth. If you go about with me Solent, you won’t be able to think of yourself like you like to do, or about any of your young ladies either! You’ll be glad enough to get three good meals every day and to sleep as long as you can. … You’ll learn from me more about the value of sleep than about courting young ladies. … So my advice is, get back to London, where that lord of your is and teach -' He was interrupted by the opening of the front door and the sound of Olwen’s shrill voice [...]
