The war had jerked me out of the old life I’d known, but in the queer period that came afterwards I fot it almost pletely.
I know that in a sense one never fets anything. You remember that piece e-peel you saw iter thirteen years ago, and that coloured poster of Torquay that you o a glimpse of in a railway waiting-room. But I’m speaking of a different kind of memory. In a sense I remembered the old life in Lower Binfield. I remembered my fishing-rod and the smell of sainfoin and Mother behind the brow and Jackie the bullfind the horse- trough in the market-place. But none of it was alive in my mind any longer. It was something far away, something that I’d finished with. It would never have occurred to me that some day I might want to go back to it.
It was a queer time, those years just after the war, almost queerer than the war itself, though people don’t remember it so vividly. In a rather different form the sense of disbelieving ihing was strohan ……（内容加载失败！）
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