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[iii]

When I sat down at the “Dolau Cothi Arms” thisevening I remembered my dedication to you.You said I could dedicate this book to you if Iwould make a real dedication, not one of myshadowy salutes befitting shadows rather thanmen and women. It seems odd you should ask thusfor a sovereign’s worth of—shall I say—Englishprose from a writer by trade. But though I turnout a large, if insufficient, number of sovereigns’worths, and am become a writing animal, and couldwrite something or other about a broomstick, I donot write with ease: so let that difficulty give thededication its value.

It is right that I should remember you upona walk, for I have walked more miles with youthan with anyone else except myself. While Iwalked you very often danced, on the roads ofKent, Sussex, Surrey, and Hampshire. This eveningwhen I went out on the Sarn Helen everybodywas in chapel, I think, unless it was the Lord, for healso seemed to me to be walking in the cool. I wasvery much alone, and glad to be. You were aghost, and not a man of fourteen stone, and I[vi]thought

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