Instead of reading it she began a long account of her morning's
walk. She told me where she had been; whom she had seen; whom she
had thought she had seen and then found that it was some one else;
what somebody had said. Not a syllable mattered, I now realised;
but yesterday I should have joined in the talk, asked questions,
encouraged her in her foolishness.

Just before lunch my brother and a guest came into the room and began
to talk about golf. My brother said that he had been round in 98. This
was his best since September, when he went round in 97. He described
his difficulties at the tenth hole.

It all seemed very idiotic to me, for the game was over and done with.
Why rake it up?

The guest said that he had lost two balls, one of which was expensive.
His driving had been good, but in the short game he had been weak.
He could never quite make up his mind whether he putted best with a
gun-metal putter or a wooden one.

My brother asked me if I remembered that long drive of his two years
ago?

I nodded.

The nurse came in and told them to go. She then asked me if I was
hungry.

"Very," I said.