KALEIDOSCOPIC pictures of last night's party presented themselves between myself and the ceiling. One or two faces— one of them was certainly Sammy's face, the other that of an attractive woman— flashed across my memory. I felt a little sick and did not want particularly to think about them. In fact I did not want to think about anything.
You wouldn't get any funny ideas about me, would you? You wouldn't come to the conclusion that I was just another of those people who've become bored with the war and try to "sublimate" their annoyance by getting cockeyed all the time? I'm not a bit like that. But— and I think I should point this out now— when one has been in the sort of racket that I've been playing around in for the last few years, it's a very good thing for a man to relax occasionally— if you get me— just to stop himself going entirely nuts.
