ABSTRACT
At the meeting I returned to that first time from Birmingham, after which my crisis in the family began, was Robin Farquhar-son. He stood out, dressed in a dark suit, a tie and a white shirt, from the casually draped people around him. He stood out because of his size too: he was a large man; tall, broad, with a magnificent head. His eyes and face are usually afire, yet that night they were not; they were soft and tranquil, almost demure. He must have been in a strange part of his being, or in disguise.
