"Bells broke in the long Sunday, a dressing-gown day.

The childless couple basked in the central heat.

The papers came on time, the enormous meat

Sang in the oven. On thick carpets lay

Thin panther kittens locked in clawless play -"

"Ah, Jesus -"

"A sonnet yet -"

Hogg glowered at this one, a small gesturing man, and prepared to say "For cough." But instead he went stoutly on:

"Bodies were firm, their tongues clean and their feet

Uncalloused. All their wine was new and sweet.

Recorders, unaccompanied, crooned away -"

At this moment another television man came in, one they had apparently all been waiting for. He was much like the others, very pasty. They clawed at him passionately, shouting.

"The Minetta Tavern -"

"Goody's on Sixth Avenue -"

There was a solitary man at the counter, one who had ordered by pointing; he wore dark glasses; his mouth had opened at Hogg and let cigarette smoke wander out at him. The tabled customers, aware of the intrusion of verse-rhythm into the formlessness of chat, had all been looking at Hogg. Spanish John stood shaking his head, nastily pleased.

"No more verse-fest," said the chief peanut-eater to Hogg. "More martinis."

"Wait," said Hogg, "for the bloody sestet."

"Oh, let's go in," the newcomer said, "I'm starving." And so they all shouted off to the Wessex Saddleback, clawing and going ja. Hogg turned gloomily to the man in dark glasses and said:

"They could have waited for the bloody sestet. No manners nowadays. It's a miracle, that's what they don't seem to realise. I tried for years to get that thing right, and only then it just came to me." He suddenly felt guilty and began to excuse himself. "Another man, though. Not really me. It's a long story. Rehabilitation they call it." The man had said: