Epilogue
“W e ought to order some papers,” said Edmund to Phillipa upon the day of their return to Chipping Cleghorn afterthe honeymoon¹. “Let’s go along to Totman’s.”
Mr. Totman, a heavy-breathing, slow-moving man, received them with affability.
“Glad to see you back, sir. And madam.”
“We want to order some papers.”
“Certainly sir. And your mother is keeping well, I hope? Quite settled down at Bournemouth?”
“She loves it,” said Edmund, who had not the faintest idea whether this was so or not, but like most sons, preferredto believe that all was well with those loved, but frequently irritating² beings, parents.
“Yes, sir. Very agreeable³ place. Went there for my holiday last year. Mrs. Totman enjoyed it very much.”
“I’m glad. About papers, we’d like—”
“And I hear you have a play on in London, sir. Very amusing⁴, so they tell me.”
“Yes, it’s doing very well.”
“Called Elephants Do Forget, so I hear. You’ll excuse me, sir, asking you, but I always thought that they didn’t—forget, I mean.”
“Yes—yes, exactly—I’ve begun to think it was a mistake calling it that. So many people have said just what yousay.”
“A kind of natural-history fact, I’ve always understood.”
“Yes—yes. Like earwigs making good mothers.”
“Do they indeed, sir? Now, that’s a fact I didn’t know.”
“About the papers—”
“The Times, sir, I think it was?” Mr. Totman paused with pencil uplifted.
“The Daily Worker,” said Edmund firmly. “And the Daily Telegraph,” said Phillipa. “And the New Statesman⁵,”
said Edmund. “The Radio Times,” said Phillipa. “The Spectator,” said Edmund. “The Gardener’s Chronicle,” saidPhillipa.
They both paused to take breath.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Totman. “And the Gazette, I suppose?”
“No,” said Edmund.

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