I Happen To Write By Hand. I

To Possess Another Language Is To Possess Another Soul.

I Taught Principally German Language And Literature At Eton. But Any Master With Private Pupils Must Be Prepared To Teach Anything They Ask For. That Can Be As Diverse As The Early Paintings Of Salvador Dali Or How Bumblebees Manage To Fly.

Yet It's Not For Want Of Future That I'm Here, He Thought. It's For Want Of A Present.

It's Part Of A Writer's Profession, As It's Part Of A Spy's Profession, To Prey On The Community To Which He's Attached, To Take Away Information - Often In Secret - And To Translate That Into Intelligence For His Masters, Whether It's His Readership Or His Spy Masters. And I Think That Both Professions Are Perhaps Rather Lonely.

Only Esmeralda Was Not Weeping. Instead She Wore That Wooden Look That Whites Mistake For Churlishenss Or Indifference. Woodrew Knew It Was Neither. It Was Familiarity. This How Real Life Is Constituted, It Said. This Is Grief And Hatred And People Hacked To Death. This Is The Everyday We Have Known Since We Were Born And You Wazungu Have Not.