But I kept putting off the decision. Oh it preyed on me at odd moments, but I never came any close to making up my mind. That year passed by in a fog, moving from season to season, show to show. The owner of the theatre did begin his improvements. Which was distracting if nothing else, and fairly entertaining to boot. As autumn returned, I was struck by a pervasive melancholy, and more significantly, a bad cold in my chest. As you might imagine, that combined with my normal respiratory problems pretty much knocked me flat.
If I had been a horse, they would have sent for the knackers.
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a little brown book
finding the life of Alexander Shaw, a kind of serial story.
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