O’ this is longing,
I want to be complete
Haven’t you heard Mr. Barnes? The world is coming to an end. So where would you rather die? Here? or in a Jaeger?
Dr. Watson doesn’t write to you, he talks to you, with Edwardian courtesy, across a glowing fire. His voice has no barriers or affectations. It is clear, energetic and decent, the voice of a tweedy, no-nonsense colonial Britisher at ease with himself. Its owner is travelled. He has knocked about, as they say, browned his knees. Yet he remains an innocent abroad. He is a first-class chap, loyal to a fault, brave as a lion, and the salt of the earth. All the clichés fit him, but he is not a cliché.
It’s a trick. It’s just a magic trick