But a girl of seventeen is not always thinking of books, especially in the Oxford summer term.
Other trades may fail. The agitator is always sure of his market.
So as the years draw on toward the Biblical limit, the inclination to look back, and to tell some sort of story of what one has seen, grows upon most of us.
But the mind travels far - and mysteriously - in sleep.
Every man is bound to leave a story better than he found it.
We all grow on somebody's grave.