No one hid their interest when I walked into the room. I'm not sure if it was the news about Boo or my general appearance. At home, people would have asked. People would have been crawling all over me for information. At Wexford, they seemed to extract what they wanted to know by covert staring.

Did you hear?" he asked. "They found another body around nine this morning. It's the Ripper, definitely." "Good morning," I replied. "Morning. Listen to this. The second victim.

Stuart must have sensed my despair from the way I began lightly banging my forehead on the table.

Although it was very cold, he wore no coat. I think some English people think coats are for the weak.

Tell me what you want, what you really, really want," he said. "Braiiinnnnssss," we said in unison.

It was clearly one of those mornings when I was particularly American.

My final word: don't follow your dreams . . . chase them. With a stick, or a shovel, or whatever you have handy. Get that [bleep]ing dream!