C S Lewis And the Country House Murders
“I found him sitting in the sun on a wooden bench in front of The Cricketers’ Arms contentedly puffing on his after-breakfast pipe and serenely contemplating the purpose of life. Or possibly—since I knew how his mind worked—he was thinking about the use of prepositions in Milton’s shorter poems. Whatever it was, it had clearly put him in a sunny mood.
‘You’ll never guess what happened to me last night,’ I said, flopping down onto the bench beside him, feeling rather like a music hall comedian w...ho has just learned a new joke and is keen to launch the ripsnorter on an audience.
‘Never? In that case,’ said Jack cheerfully, ‘I won’t attempt to guess—you can tell me.’ I began to do so. I laid on the colour to make the tale as vivid as possible. Perhaps I was labouring the atmospherics and taking too long to get to the heart of the matter, because I’d only got to the point of me leaning out of my bedroom window when we were interrupted.
The white-haired old apothecary, Arthur Williamson, came puffing up the street, red-faced and looking quite alarmed.MoreLess
‘You’ll never guess what happened to me last night,’ I said, flopping down onto the bench beside him, feeling rather like a music hall comedian w...ho has just learned a new joke and is keen to launch the ripsnorter on an audience.
‘Never? In that case,’ said Jack cheerfully, ‘I won’t attempt to guess—you can tell me.’ I began to do so. I laid on the colour to make the tale as vivid as possible. Perhaps I was labouring the atmospherics and taking too long to get to the heart of the matter, because I’d only got to the point of me leaning out of my bedroom window when we were interrupted.
The white-haired old apothecary, Arthur Williamson, came puffing up the street, red-faced and looking quite alarmed.MoreLess
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