Graeme Macrae Burnet

courteous and obliging young man

A few sickly trees punctuated the pavement. The last November leaves clung sadly to the branches, as if they knew their fate but had not yet accepted it.

‘Dad’ has always struck me as dreadfully plebeian, a flat grey syllable in the mouth. ‘Father’ is excessively formal when spoken; and the idea of addressing him by his Christian name is simply vulgar. We are not, thank heavens, all Americans yet.