Oct. 22nd, 2002

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Personal integrity requires that I acknowledge this exists, because I'm stealing concept from it. If I didn't make it clear that I know it exists, I'd always wonder if someone else wondered. Oh, my brain. Oh, my ears and whiskers.

---

Yet these resolutions all went by the board when Sharman fired his first shot. That wanton, useless act roused in Fen something which was neither heroism, nor sentimentality, nor righteous indignation, nor even instinctive revulsion; and having stated the negative side, it is difficult to put into words what, actually, it was, since it is not a common emotion in mankind, and since it lies at the basis of Fen's personality. I suppose that as near as anything would be to say that it was a kind of passionless sense of justice and propotion, a deeply rooted objection to waste. In any case, it left him with the sudden desire to act; and singing quietly and untunefully to himself the finale of the Enigma Variations, he crouched down beside one of the wooden motor-cycles, the centrifugal drive flattening him against it, and began to push his way forward.

The Moving Toyshop, Edmund Crispin

---

Other than that, quiet day, and most of it spent tired. Hardly surprising.

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