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would seem to me that it was just one of those things that you dream about and don’t ever do。 but in the afternoon i got the car out and drove down to burford weir。 i thought i’d just have a look at the river； and tomorrow； if the weather was right； maybe i’d take my new fishing…rod and put on the old coat and grey flannel bags i had in my suitcase； and have a good day’s fishing。 three or four days； if i felt like it。
i drove over chamford hill。 down at the bottom the road turns off and runs parallel to the towpath。 i got out of the car and walked。 ah！ a knot of little red and white bungalows had sprung up beside the road。 might have expected it； of course。 and there seemed to be a lot of cars standing about。 as i got nearer the river i came into the sound—yes； plonk…tiddle…tiddle…plonk！—yes； the sound of gramphones。
i rounded the bend and came in sight of the towpath。 christ！ another jolt。 the place was black with people。 and where the water…meadows used to be—tea…houses； penny…in…the…slot machines； sweet kiosks； and chaps selling walls’ ice…cream。 might as well have been at margate。 i remember the old towpath。 you could walk along it for miles； and except for the chaps at the lock gates； and now and again a bargeman mooching along behind his horse； you’d meet never a soul。 when we went fishing we always had the place to ourselves。 often i’ve sat there a whole afternoon； and a heron might be standing in the shallow water fifty yards up the bank； and for three or four hours on end there wouldn’t be anyone passing to scare him away。 but where had i got the idea that grown…up men don’t go fishing？ up and down the bank； as far as i could see in both directions； there was a continuous chain of men fishing； one every five yards。 i wondered how the hell they could all have got there until it struck me that they must be some fishing…club or other。 and the river was crammed with boats—rowing…boats； canoes； punts； motor…launches； full of young fools with next to nothing on； all of them screaming and shouting and most of them with a gramphone aboard as well。 the floats of the poor devils who were trying to fish rocked up and down on the wash of the motor…boats。
i walked a little way。 dirty； choppy water； in spite of the fine day。 nobody was catching anything； not even minnows。 i wondered whether they expected to。 a crowd like that would be enough to scare every fish in creation。 but actually； as i watched the floats rocking up and down among the ice…cream tubs and the paper bags； i doubted whether there were any fish to catch。 are there still fish in the thames？ i suppose there must be。 and yet i’ll swear the thames water isn’t the same as it used to be。 its colour is quite different。 of course you think that’s merely my imagination； but i can tell you it isn’t so。 i know the water has changed。 i remember the thames water as it used to be； a kind of luminous green that you could see deep into； and the shoals of dace cruising round the reeds。 you couldn’t see three inches into the water now。 it’s all brown and dirty； with a film of oil in it from the motor…boats； not to mention the fag…ends and the paper bags。
after a bit i turned back。 couldn’t stand the noise of the gramophones any longer。 of course it’s sunday； i thought。 mightn’t be so bad on a week…day。 but after all； i knew i’d never e back。 god rot them； let ‘em keep their bloody river。 wherever i go fishing it won’t be in the thames。
the crowds swarmed past me。 crowds of bloody aliens； and nearly all of them young。 boys and girls larking along in couples。 a troop of girls came past； wearing bell…bottomed trousers and white caps like the ones they wear in the american navy； with slogans printed on them。 one of them； seventeen she might have been； had please kiss me。 i wouldn’t have minded。 on an impulse i suddenly turned aside and weighed myself on one of the penny…in…the…slot machines。 there was a clicking noise somewhere inside it—you know those machines that tell your fortune as well as your weight—and a typewritten card came sliding out。
‘you are the possessor of exceptional gifts；’ i read； ‘but owing to excessive modesty you have never received your reward。 those about you underrate your abilities。 you are too fond of standing aside and allowing others to take the credit for what you have done yourself 。 you are sensitive； affectionate； and always loyal to your friends。 you are deeply attractive to the opposite sex。 your worst fault is generosity。 persevere； for you will rise high！
‘weight： 14 stone 11 pounds。’
i’d put on four pounds in the last three days； i noticed。 must have been the booze。
％％。
PART Ⅳ…4
（／／小｜//说//网）
i drove back to the george； dumped the car in the garage； and had a late cup of tea。 as it was sunday the bar wouldn’t open for another hour or two。 in the cool of the evening i went out and strolled up in the direction of the church。
i was just crossing the market…place when i noticed a woman walking a little way ahead of me。 as soon as i set eyes on her i had a most peculiar feeling that i’d seen her somewhere before。 you know that feeling。 i couldn’t see her face； of course； and so far as her back view went there was nothing i could identify and yet i could have sworn i knew her。
she went up the high street and turned down one of the side…streets to the right； the one where uncle ezekiel used to have his shop。 i followed。 i don’t quite know why—partly curiosity； perhaps； and partly as a kind of precaution。 my first thought had been that here at last was one of the people i’d known in the old days in lower binfield； but almost at the same moment it struck me that it was just as likely that she was someone from west bletchley。 in that case i’d have to watch my step； because if she found out i was here she’d probably split to hilda。 so i followed cautiously； keeping at a safe distance and examining her back view as well as i could。 there was nothing striking about it。 she was a tallish； fattish woman； might have been forty or fifty； in a rather shabby black dress。 she’d no hat on； as though she’d just slipped out of her house for a moment； and the way she walked gave you the impression that her shoes were down at heel。 all in all； she looked a bit of a slut。 and yet there was nothing to identify； only that vague something which i knew i’d seen before。 it was something in her movements； perhaps。 presently she got to a little sweet and paper shop； the kind of little shop that always keeps open on a sunday。 the woman who kept it was standing in the doorway； doing something to a stand of postcards。 my woman stopped to pass the time of day。
i stopped too； as soon as i could find a shop window which i could pretend to be looking into。 it was a plumber’s and decorator’s； full of samples of wallpaper and bathroom fittings and things。 by this time i wasn’t fifteen yards away from the other two。 i could hear their voices cooing away in one of those meaningless conversations that women have when they’re just passing the time of day。 ‘yes； that’s jest about it。 that’s jest where it is。 i said to him myself； i said； “well； what else do you expect？” i said。 it don’t seem right； do it？ but what’s the use； you might as well talk to a stone。 it’s a shame！’ and so on and so forth。 i was getting warmer。 obviously my woman was a small shopkeeper’s wife； like the other。 i was just wondering whether she mightn’t be one of the people i’d known in lower binfield after all； when she turned almost towards me and i saw three…quarters of her face。 and jesus christ！ it was elsie！
yes； it was elsie。 no chance of mistake。 elsie！ that fat hag！
it gave me such a shock—not； mind you； seeing elsie； but seeing what she’d grown to be like—that for a moment things swam in front of my eyes。 the brass taps and ballstops and porcelain sinks and things seemed to fade away into the distance； so that i both saw them and didn’t see them。 also for a moment i was in a deadly funk that she might recognize me。 but she’d looked bang in my face and hadn’t made any sign。 a moment more； and she turned and went on。 again i followed。 it was dangerous； she might spot i was following her； and tha