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ark horror。 it was too much。 he flung himself down in a paroxysm of weeping。
anyway； it went something like that。 and even at the time it started me thinking。 there you have it； you see。 that’s how people—some people—are expected to behave。 but how about a chap like me？ suppose hilda went off for a week…end with somebody else… …not that i’d care a damn； in fact it would rather please me to find that she’d still got that much kick left in her—but suppose i did care； would i fling myself down in a paroxysm of weeping？ would anyone expect me to？ you couldn’t； with a figure like mine。 it would be downright obscene。
the train was running along an embankment。 a little below us you could see the roofs of the houses stretching on and on； the little red roofs where the bombs are going to drop； a bit lighted up at this moment because a ray of sunshine was catching them。 funny how we keep on thinking about bombs。 of course there’s no question that it’s ing soon。 you can tell how close it is by the cheer… up stuff they’re talking about it in the newspaper。 i was reading a piece in the news chronicle the other day where it said that bombing planes can’t do any damage nowadays。 the anti…aircraft guns have got so good that the bomber has to stay at twenty thousand feet。 the chap thinks； you notice； that if an aeroplane’s high enough the bombs don’t reach the ground。 or more likely what he really meant was that they’ll miss woolwich arsenal and only hit places like ellesmere road。
but taking it by and large； i thought； it’s not so bad to be fat。 one thing about a fat man is that he’s always popular。 there’s really no kind of pany； from bookies to bishops； where a fat man doesn’t fit in and feel at home。 as for women； fat men have more luck with them than people seem to think。 it’s all bunk to imagine； as some people do； that a woman looks on a fat man as just a joke。 the truth is that a woman doesn’t look on any man as a joke if he can kid her that he’s in love with her。
mind you； i haven’t always been fat。 i’ve been fat for eight or nine years； and i suppose i’ve developed most of the characteristics。 but it’s also a fact that internally； mentally； i’m not altogether fat。 no！ don’t mistake me。 i’m not trying to put myself over as a kind of tender flower； the aching heart behind the smiling face and so forth。 you couldn’t get on in the insurance business if you were anything like that。 i’m vulgar； i’m insensitive； and i fit in with my environment。 so long as anywhere in the world things are being sold on mission and livings are picked up by sheer brass and lack of finer feelings； chaps like me will be doing it。 in almost all circumstances i’d manage to make a living—always a living and never a fortune—and even in war； revolution； plague； and famine i’d back myself to stay alive longer than most people。 i’m that type。 but also i’ve got something else inside me； chiefly a hangover from the past。 i’ll tell you about that later。 i’m fat； but i’m thin inside。 has it ever struck you that there’s a thin man inside every fat man； just as they say there’s a statue inside every block of stone？
the chap who’d borrowed my matches was having a good pick at his teeth over the express。
‘legs case don’t seem to get much forrader；’ he said。
‘they’ll never get ‘im；’ said the other。 ‘‘ow could you identify a pair of legs？ they’re all the bleeding same； aren’t they？’
‘might trace ‘im through the piece of paper ‘e wrapped ‘em up in；’ said the first。
down below you could see the roofs of the houses stretching on and on； twisting this way and that with the streets； but stretching on and on； like an enormous plain that you could have ridden over。 whichever way you cross london it’s twenty miles of houses almost without a break。 christ！ how can the bombers miss us when they e？ we’re just one great big bull’s…eye。 and no warning； probably。 because who’s going to be such a bloody fool as to declare war nowadays？ if i was hitler i’d send my bombers across in the middle of a disarmament conference。 some quiet morning； when the clerks are streaming across london bridge； and the canary’s singing； and the old woman’s pegging the bloomers on the line—zoom； whizz； plonk！ houses going up into the air； bloomers soaked with blood； canary singing on above the corpses。
seems a pity somehow； i thought。 i looked at the great sea of roofs stretching on and on。 miles and miles of streets； fried…fish shops； tin chapels； picture houses； little printing…shops up back alleys； factories； blocks of flats； whelk stalls； dairies； power stations—on and on and on。 enormous！ and the peacefulness of it！ like a great wilderness with no wild beasts。 no guns firing； nobody chucking pineapples； nobody beating anybody else up with a rubber truncheon。 if you e to think of it； in the whole of england at this moment there probably isn’t a single bedroom window from which anyone’s firing a machine…gun。
but how about five years from now？ or two years？ or one year？
。。
PART Ⅰ…4
（／小｜说｜网）
i’d dropped my papers at the office。 warner is one of these cheap american dentists； and he has his consulting…room； or ‘parlour’ as he likes to call it； halfway up a big block of offices； between a photographer and a rubber…goods wholesaler。 i was early for my appointment； but it was time for a bit of grub。 i don’t know what put it into my head to go into a milk…bar。 they’re places i generally avoid。 we five…to…ten…pound…a…weekers aren’t well served in the way of eating…places in london。 if your idea of the amount to spend on a meal is one and threepence； it’s either lyons； the express dairy； or the a。b。c。； or else it’s the kind of funeral snack they serve you in the saloon bar； a pint of bitter and a slab of cold pie； so cold that it’s colder than the beer。 outside the milk…bar the boys were yelling the first editions of the evening papers。
behind the bright red counter a girl in a tall white cap was fiddling with an ice…box； and somewhere at the back a radio was playing； plonk…tiddle…tiddle…plonk； a kind of tinny sound。 why the hell am i ing here？ i thought to myself as i went in。 ther