and deliciousness about Grundy's forbidden things as there is about
eating ham. Jolly nice if it's a bright morning and you're well and
hungry and having breakfast in the open air. Jolly unattractive if
you're off colour. But Grundy's covered it all up and hidden it and
put mucky shades and covers over it until he's forgotten it. Begins to
fester round it in his mind. Has dreadful struggles--with himself about
impure thoughts.... Then you set Grundy with hot ears,--curious in
undertones. Grundy on the loose, Grundy in a hoarse whisper and
with furtive eyes and convulsive movements--making things indecent.
Evolving--in dense vapours--indecency!

"Grundy sins. Oh, yes, he's a hypocrite. Sneaks round a corner and
sins ugly. It's Grundy and his dark corners that make vice, vice! We
artists--we have no vices.

"And then he's frantic with repentance. And wants to be cruel to fallen
women and decent harmless sculptors of the simple nude--like me--and so
back to his panic again."

"Mrs. Grundy, I suppose, doesn't know he sins," I remarked.

"No? I'm not so sure.... But, bless her heart she's a woman.... She's
a woman. Then again you get Grundy with a large greasy smile--like
an accident to a butter tub--all over his face, being Liberal
Minded--Grundy in his Anti-Puritan moments, 'trying not to see Harm in
it'--Grundy the friend of innocent pleasure. He makes you sick with the
Harm he's trying not to see in it...

"And that's why everything's wrong, Ponderevo. Grundy, damn him! stands
in the light, and we young people can't see. His moods affect us. We