XI 

 LADY MAUD'S WALK 



(AN ESSAY IN INCONSEQUENCE) 



I AM full of problems. Last Sunday after- 

 noon there were most certainly eight of 

 them in that wooden box under the yew 

 hedge, and now there are but two ; and yet 

 no human hand has touched bowl or jack in 

 the interval. Six days have passed since 

 then, and with each day, or anyhow for 

 each, has disappeared one round plaything. 

 It is just so restful and sufficient an inquiry 

 as is suited to the afternoon of a Sunday in 

 July and to Lady Maud's Walk. Let me 

 smoke a cigarette while I think it out. The 

 one great objection to perfect comfort is that 

 one has to move when one wants to do any- 

 thing, and a man recumbent on many cushions 

 has much difficulty in finding his matches. 

 Ah, here they are, and now to thinking again. 



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