Tomorrow’s Parties

Perhaps I could have persuaded myself. Perhaps I could have gone on quite happily, breezily – in a kind of self-hypnosis of which I feel sure he – I mean, the peddler would have approved.

My life, after all, has changed, become quite unrecognisable. And those things to which I have just alluded – there in the darkened room – and am now – ashamedly, mysteriously unable to clarify - would not dare to intrude on the reality that we have all been carefully constructing here (pace Salem).

Perhaps I could have persuaded myself. With things as they stand, one could not say that those things to which I have just alluded – and am now – ashamedly, mysteriously unable to clarify - should have much – if any bearing on what is happening now under the interplay of headings:

The War, its protests

Salem, his clients

And (unexceptionally)

Tomorrow’s parties