82 IN RETROSPECT You might as well be locked in a cage and I the visitor to feed you there with cheapest nuts (I call them thoughts) for all the difference it seems to makeo No, it is not the fault of the caf@, it is not, believe me, the time or place but the haphazard destinies, yours and mine, that close us in, saving from this London season nothing rare or true but only a familiar view, the invisible landscape of love, The spring was late but I was impatient. I used too many words, and now I know: There is a point in being obscure about the luminous, the pure musical phases of living which ought to be delicately improvised and left alone.