He wrote as follows:--

"A night to remember. A marvellous night. A night such as few will see
again. A night of fear and wonder. The night of September the eleventh.
Last night.

"Nine-thirty. I had dined. I had eaten my dinner. My dinner! So
inextricably are the prose and romance of life blended. My dinner! I
had eaten my dinner on this night. This wonderful night. This night of
September the eleventh. Last night!

"I had dined at the club. A chop. A boiled potato. Mushrooms on toast.
A touch of Stilton. Half-a-bottle of Beaune. I lay back in my chair. I
debated within myself. A Hall? A theatre? A book in the library? That
night, the night of September the eleventh, I as near as a toucher
spent in the library of my club with a book. That night! The night of
September the eleventh. Last night!

"Fate took me to the Lobelia. Fate! We are its toys. Its footballs. We
are the footballs of Fate. Fate might have sent me to the Gaiety. Fate
took me to the Lobelia. This Fate which rules us.

"I sent in my card to the manager. He let me through. Ever courteous.
He let me through on my face. This manager. This genial and courteous
manager.

"I was in the Lobelia. A dead-head. I was in the Lobelia as a
dead-head!"

Here, in the original draft of the article, there are reflections, at