ABSTRACT
AT THE age of seventy-five Henry Clarke had become a brittle, testy and domineeringly pious old man. Greeted on his birthday by the customary good wishes, ‘Many happy returns of the day’, he tossed back the enigmatic response, ‘How many?’ He found it impossible to accept light-hearted greetings or casual comments. Always eager to raise the spiritual tone of any gathering, he was especially irked by casual visitors and conversations in the morning: The usual light talk pains me and if I introduce spiritual talk it pains others and I meet with no response.’
