I told him the two attic leaks had started before I came down but there were buckets under them. He went to see if they were overflowing and returned to say that there were four more leaks. We had run out of buckets so he collected three saucepans and the soup-tureen. “Maybe I’d best stay up there and empty them as they fill,” he said. He took a book and some candle-ends and I thought how gloomy it would be for him reading poetry in the middle of six drips.
