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I once met a cultured foreign woman of great ability whom I 

 admired (without further designs; she was already married and 

 so was I). Once in discussing the British, who annoyed her, she 

 said that when a crisis arose, instead of tackling it in a proper 

 business-like way at once, somebody would be sure to say, 'Well 

 now, let's first have a nice cup of tea', and you would just have to 

 wait until they had all had it before getting down to business. I 

 had often thought of that since, and those words always flash it 

 up on my mind like a screen. Mrs. Shearer bustled back soon 

 afterwards with a tray full of good things, and put tea and cake 

 before me; but misery destroys flavour and I ate and drank 

 what could have been sawdust and muddy water for all it meant to 

 my palate. 



Even when everyone had finished and it was already more than 

 time to go, I had a strange reluctance to get up. Although it really 

 seemed that everything was finished, my mind fiercely resisted 

 such a conclusion, for it meant that I was virtually giving up, even 

 though it was beyond my powers to do more. Though I had 

 actually put my hands on the table, I was hesitating even while 

 trying to bring myself to the effort of rising to my feet. They were 

 all looking at me, obviously waiting for me to move, all this in a 

 strained strange silence, when this was suddenly and dramatically 

 shattered by the loud ringing of the telephone, which in that tense 

 atmosphere was like an explosion. It startled us all so much that 

 for a few seconds nobody moved. Then Shearer and I jumped to 

 our feet — he went off, we heard him say a few words, then silence, 

 then a shout: 'Quick Professor, Dr. Malan ! Dr. Malan wants to 

 speak to you !' 



I found myself at the telephone with the receiver in my hands. 

 'Dr. Malan himself,' whispered Shearer. I croaked into the 

 receiver, but it was a woman's voice that spoke in Afrikaans: 

 'Mrs. Malan here. Professor; the Doctor wants to speak to you.' 

 A click, a fumble, then that slow voice easily recognisable over a 

 gap of more than twenty years, in English too. 'Good evening. 

 Professor, I have heard something of your story, but will you 

 please give me as full a summary as possible.' So I began, in 

 Afrikaans, saying that I hoped he would not mind if I stumbled 

 occasionally in technical terms. 'Speak English, man,' he inter- 

 jected. I said no, I wished to speak in Afrikaans, and taking a 



