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Beerbohm, Max, Sir, 1872-1956

"Zuleika Dobson, or, an Oxford love story"

It was fun to watch
the inmost thoughts of the station-master, of the porters, of the
young person at the buffet. But of course I did not let the holiday-
mood master me. I realised the seriousness of my mission. I must
concentrate myself on the matter in hand: Miss Dobson's visit. What
was going to happen? Prescience was no part of my outfit. From what I
knew about Miss Dobson, I deduced that she would be a great success.
That was all. Had I had the instinct that was given to those Emperors
in stone, and even to the dog Corker, I should have begged Clio to
send in my stead some man of stronger nerve. She had charged me to be
calmly vigilant, scrupulously fair. I could have been neither, had I
from the outset foreseen all. Only because the immediate future was
broken to me by degrees, first as a set of possibilities, then as a
set of probabilities that yet might not come off, was I able to fulfil
the trust imposed in me. Even so, it was hard. I had always accepted
the doctrine that to understand all is to forgive all. Thanks to Zeus,
I understood all about Miss Dobson, and yet there were moments when
she repelled me--moments when I wished to see her neither from without
nor from within.


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