“I’m tired, Hawkes. My aunt’s demands are legion.” He waited. “And last night was very fine and monied and aesthetically pleasing.” He waited. “Only,” I sighed again, “I went to Oxford for the first time on Friday and I find myself changed. Or rather, something in me that has been dormant, or limping along, is now trying to run and it has no place to go. I’ve neglected my studies all the month long. I can’t find order in my day. And therefore, am left with an unsatisfied taste on my tongue. That, I suppose, is how I feel.”
