" "Bah!" returned the woollen-draper. “I’ve got it. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. “Before I heard much Wagnerian music I heard enthusiastic descriptions of it from a mistress I didn’t like at school. ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked.
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