Old odd ends stolen out of holy writ.

Writing and now reading these stories about figures who move behind the plots graduates in/with intoxication. Long ago with In the Skin of a Lion, right now in The Winter of Our Discontent, and Mr. Ethan Hawkley seems to be guiding his circumstances while they at the same timeevolve of their own accord, the other characters thinking as they do. As the circumstances unfold I keep finding myself with some certain expectation, only to be softened with a grey surprise as the pages flip, then flop. Some character who lets the others create events and atmosphere, spinning their motion by sitting back to watch and wait. There is such a difference to be seen in the same young man sitting in a cafe window, whether simply watching the faceless walkers drifting along the sidewalk outside, or waiting for some one who is not arriving. The same stillness, or perhaps swivelling movements, the same one there.