Saturday extends articlelessness into the sensations of a young working-class woman and the territory of his great second novel, Living.

There was this Estella, a real drab, being given syph and gon and gleet by Augustus John, and Tommy has her living with him in that place of his in Earl’s Court and going to a doctor, nothing wrong with her actually but there might well have been, and he never touches her, you know.

Bernstein, am I a stuffed shirt? Am I a horse-faced hypocrite? Am I a New England school marm?

Now — as I sit here writing I see half a dozen carriages under the shade of the trees — coachmen on their boxes, talking, laughing &c — some hookling, they call it. They have a bone hook some thing like a crochet needle — and they hook them selves woollen gloves — Some are reading Hymn books, or pretending. The small footmen are playing marbles under the trees.