John Galsworthy

A Sheaf John Galsworthy

We had left my rooms, and were walking briskly down the street towards the river, when my friend stopped before the window of a small shop and said: "Gold-fish!"I[1] looked at him very doubtfully; one had known him so long that one never looked at him in any other way."Can you imagine," he went on, "how any sane person can find pleasure in the sight of those swift things swimming for ever and ever in a bowl about twice the length of their own tails?""No," I said, "I cannot-though, of course, they're very pretty.""That is, no doubt, the reason why they are kept in misery."Again I looked at him; there is nothing in the world I distrust so much as irony."People don't think about these things," I said