fish--it spoils the flesh for roasting."

The things that she would turn people into--king's sons, rightful
princesses, such sort of people--people who after a time, one would
think, must have quite forgotten what they started as. To let her
have her way was a lesson to me in natural history both present and
pre-historic. The most beautiful damsel that ever lived she would
without a moment's hesitation turn into a Glyptodon or a Hippocrepian.
Afterwards, when I could guess at the spelling, I would look these
creatures up in the illustrated dictionary, and feel that under no
circumstances could I have loved the lady ever again. Warriors and kings
she would delight in transforming into plaice or prawns, and haughty
queens into Brussels sprouts.

With gusto would she plan a complicated slaughter, paying heed to every
detail: the sharpening of the knives, the having ready of mops and pails
of water for purposes of after cleaning up. As a writer she would have
followed the realistic school.

Her death, with which we invariably wound up the afternoon, was another
conscientious effort. Indeed, her groans and writhings would sometimes
frighten me. I always welcomed the last gurgle. That finished, but not a
moment before, my aunt would let down her skirt--in this way suggesting
the fall of the curtain upon our play--and set to work to get the tea.

Another frequently recurring picture that I see is of myself in
glazed-peaked cap explaining many things the while we walk through dingy
streets to yet a smaller figure curly haired and open eyed. Still every
now and then she runs ahead to turn and look admiringly into my face as
on the day she first became captive to the praise and fame of me.

I was glad of her company for more reasons than she knew of. For one,
she protected me against my baser self. With her beside me I should
not have dared to flee from sudden foes. Indeed, together we courted
adventure; for once you get used to it this standing hazard of attack
adds a charm to outdoor exercise that older folk in districts better
policed enjoy not. So possibly my dog feels when together we take the
air. To me it is a simple walk, maybe a little tiresome, suggested
rather by contemplation of my waistband than by desire for walking for
mere walking's sake; to him an expedition full of danger and surprises:
"The gentleman asleep with one eye open on The Chequer's doorstep!
will he greet me with a friendly sniff or try to bite my