I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. This was an imitation of the noises made by the carnivora at the Zoological Gardens at feeding-time; the idea was taken up by prisoner after prisoner until the whole place was alive with barkings, yappings, roarings, pelican chatterings, and feline yowlings, interspersed with shrieks of hysterical laughter. The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other.
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