etc, nearly a mile, t e straignut trees, and on t tpat o go tnuts  nig  t your face like silk. Sometimes on Sunday afternoons  over Co ter-meadoillness, ter, t’ll never come again. I don’t mean t 1913  being in a  being frig need to be told about, or   ever o learn.

    It  till late summer t ogetoo so begin, and too ignorant to realize t ternoon  into ted e  sing for me to begin. Somet kno it into my o go into t seventy and getting very crusty, urning us out, but ernoon. e slipped tpato t  ill tter solitude, t trees all round you, t-ting among ttle grass , and  up and  again. I ed ed to take tened. And curiously enoug in my mind at time. It suddenly struck me t for years I’d meant to come back  seemed a pity not to go doo t t I’d kick myself after I couldn’t t been back before. tored a t me, I o catcime. Practically tually started  direction, and t ten yards I turned back. It meant crasten brus. Dark-grey suit, boton boots, and a collar t almost cut my ears off. t ed Elsie very badly. I  back and stood over . S stir uff t you could do e if I ed to. Suddenly I stopped being frig on to t bounced, I remember), knelt doook  yet. It  time, but it   make suc as you mig. So t . t of my mind again, and in fact for years after them.

    1913. 1914. t tnuts in blossom. Sunday afternoons along to toget tnut trees, an o  year. ed in t! And tside, t-stocks and pipe-tobacco in tments, t dust underfoot, and tjars er the cockchafers.

    C! ’s t one oug to be sentimental about ‘bef