![]() ![]() The man opposite Stephen produced a second-class ticket from behind. The ticket collector bustled through the buffet car, and clipped Stephen’s first-class ticket. All the people having breakfast seemed to know each other and Stephen felt like an uninvited guest at someone else’s party. He caught the eight-seventeen, so favoured by those who commute from Oxford to London every day. There were as many bicycles standing in the ranks as there are cars in any other station in England. He left Ethelred the Unsteady padlocked to the station railings. He washed, shaved, dressed and missed college breakfast, pedalling to Oxford station on his ancient bicycle, the preferred mode of transportation in a city blocked solid with juggernaut lorries in one-way systems. He forced himself to use his mind constructively, to put the past firmly behind him and see what he could do about the future. ![]() “He seemed to have been heavily, dreamlessly asleep, but as soon as he came to, his nightmare started again. ![]()
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