Later.

I went into J.'s room just now to put a book there—and turned down the pink bed cover to see if he had enough blankets. As I did so I thought of J. as a boy of about 17. I had a sort of prophetic vision of doing just the same thing for my son … in years to come. The moment had no emotional value at all—especially as it was all drowned in the smell of roast mutting. There goes the gong: it sounds like a timid fire alarm. But I wait until the first course is done. I wait until the chimpanzees have lapped up their little pool before I start a-nut-cracking wiv 'em.