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There is a red carnation in that vase. A single flower as we sat here waiting, but now a seven-sided flower, many-petalled, red, puce, purple-shaded, stiff with silver-tinted leaves � a whole flower to which every eye brings its own contribution.

But you understand, you, my self, who always comes at a call (that would be a harrowing experience to call and for no one to come; that would make the midnight hollow, and explains the expression of old men in clubs � they have given up calling for a self who does not come), you understand that I am only superficially represented by what I was saying tonight.

5th (or 6th?) read as a reward for the year. Time to submerge myself once again in my favourite book.