My
aged parent calls it `talking too much and not saying anything.'
Note that last--not saying _anything!_ It's one of the rules in
playing that mustn't be broken."
He understood that better than most of the things she said.
"Why," he exclaimed, "it's kind of talking sideways."
"Why, yes. Of course. Talking sideways. Don't you see now?"
Gallant gentleman as he was, he let her think she had invented
the phrase.
She said many other things; things implying such vast learning
that he made gigantic resolves to "read like thunder."
Her great lesson was the art of taking tea. He found,
surprisedly, that they weren't really going to endanger their
clothes by rolling on park grass. Instead, she led him to a
tea-room behind a candy-shop on Tottenham Court Road, a low room
with white wicker chairs, colored tiles set in the wall, and
green Sedji-ware jugs with irregular bunches of white roses.
A waitress with wild-rose cheeks and a busy step brought Orange
Pekoe and lemon for her, Ceylon and Russian Caravan tea and a
jug of clotted cream for him, with a pile of cinnamon buns.
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