COMRADES OF THE COTERIE:
Henry Green, Compton-Burnett, Bowen, Graham Greene
"If this young man expresses himself In terms too deep for me, Why, what a very singularly deep young man This deep young man must be!"
--W. S. Gilbert
The dinner party wasn't going well. Mrs. Sterling looked across the table at her husband with a pretty little frown of anxiety. Harry was in one of his moods. That third old fashioned, which he never should have taken, hadn't cheered him up a bit. Now he was staring at Mrs. Mandible in a positively rude way. Oh dear, were literary people worth the social risk? Mrs. Mandible was so very literary. She belonged to three different book clubs, in addition to being the chairman of the book department of the Woman's Civic Club. What was that she was saying to Harry now?
"What do you think of Henry Green, Mr. Sterling?"
"I'm afraid I don't know him," said Harry. "What outfit's he with?"
"Of course you don't know him. Nobody does. He's that Pseudonymous English writer nobody knows, the one who has pictures taken of the back of his head."