So I Mixed Up Everything On The Plate All Together - Made A Sort Of
Salad Of It, In Fact - And Ate It With A Spoon.
A more disagreeable
dish I have never tasted since the days when I used to do Willie
Evans's "dags," by walking twice through a sewer, and was
subsequently, on returning home, promptly put to bed, and made to
eat brimstone and treacle.
I felt very sad after dinner. All the things I have done in my life
that I should not have done recurred to me with painful vividness.
(There seemed to be a goodish number of them, too.) I thought of
all the disappointments and reverses I had experienced during my
career; of all the injustice that I had suffered, and of all the
unkind things that had been said and done to me. I thought of all
the people I had known who were now dead, and whom I should never
see again, of all the girls that I had loved, who were now married
to other fellows, while I did not even know their present addresses.
I pondered upon our earthly existence, upon how hollow, false, and
transient it is, and how full of sorrow. I mused upon the
wickedness of the world and of everybody in it, and the general
cussedness of all things.
I thought how foolish it was for B. and myself to be wasting our
time, gadding about Europe in this silly way. What earthly
enjoyment was there in travelling - being jolted about in stuffy
trains, and overcharged at uncomfortable hotels?
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