"We took a picnic down to Hades. There was a dog on the island there, a friendly lost dog and not even wet, a mystery, he jumped onto the boat to be rescued. Do you remember the dog? Pollard and I were arguing about English or Latin being best for poetry - the dog was subjoined: lost dog loves young man - dog lost young man loves, loves lost young man dog, you can't beat Latin: shuffle the words to suit, the endings tell you which loves what, who's young, who lost, if you can't read Latin go home, you've missed it! You kissed the dog. After that day, everything else seemed futile and ridiculous: the ridiculous idea that one's life was poised on the reading course..."