On an evening in late May,a middle-aged man was walking home from Shaston to the Village of Marlotts. His legs were weak, and he found it difficult to walk in a straigh line. He appeared to
be deep in thought, but in fact he was thinking about very little. Near the village he met an old Vicar riding on a gney horse.
‘Goodnight to you,said the man.
‘Goodnight, Sir John,said the vicar.
The man, after another step or two, stopped, and turned round.‘Now,sir,I beg your pardon, he said.‘we met last market-day on this road at about this time. I said “Goodnight”,and you replied“Goodnight, Sir John”,as you did just now.