Nothing else of any note happened that day except the exquisite curry, throughout which I played records of Wagner: he goes beautifully with curry, the only use I’ve ever found for him. Sam left early and I too was ready for my bed, as I always am after a night in the cells. I heard Johanna come in from her bridge-party but she went straight to her room, so I suppose she had lost. I lay awake for a long time, thinking of poor little Eric Tichborne and feeling like a pagan suckled in a creed outworn. I dare say you know the feeling, especially if your wife sometimes goes to bed without saying good night.

13

Seven sorrows the priests give their Virgin;

But thy sins, which are seventy times seven,

Seven ages would fail thee to purge in,

And then they would haunt thee in heaven:

Fierce midnights and famishing morrows,

And the loves that complete and control

All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows

That wear out the soul.

Dolores

I spend the morning and much of the afternoon in bed, moping and pretending to be poorly. Jock brought me no less than three successive cups of his delicious beef-tea, not to mention a sandwich or two from time to time. Johanna tried to take my temperature.

‘Oh no you don’t!’ I cried.

‘But we always take it like that in the States.’

I was saved by the bell of the telephone: the Attorney-General’s staff wanted to know about my citizenship status. Then it rang again: it was George, whose advocate had been terrifying him. I told him that my solicitor was a much better terrifier and a faster – he had done all his terrifying the previous day. Then it rang again and I told the Chief Superintendent’s clerk that, no I couldn’t pop down to the Station, I was suffering from a tertiary ague.

This sort of thing went on. There will, I think, be telephones in Hell.

What I was waiting for was the Jersey Evening Post, for a good press was essential to the efficacy of our scheme and might well be useful when things came to be considered in Court.

Our copy of the newspaper is delivered at six o’clock but, evidently, other people get theirs earlier, for the telephone calls started again with redoubled vigour at half-past four. Set out in rough order they comprised:

One learned Rector of my acquaintance who wished, sadly and probably sensibly, that we had tried the Church’s resources first, instead of imperilling our souls by flirting with the Opposition.

One Christian Scientist – I thought they had all died out – who explained that rape was all in the mind and merely a manifestation of Mortal Error. She was still talking when I hung up on her, but I don’t suppose she noticed.