“Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. You didn’t even put the twelve words. But I was portentous, I can assure you. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. That was Leonardo’s motto. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people.
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