British Decency

I. F. R. Leavis, 1958

The sky was inky grey, the gravel paths gleamed wet and brown, and the buildings were a smooth wet featureless buff color round the broad blank lawns; in the emptiness the noise from the street sounded lost and small. Hearing something I turned, and Dr. Leavis had ridden up behind me, and was swinging down from his bicycle—which looked as big and shabby as ever—and which he then picked up under his arm, not looking at me, and carried hurrying up the steps into the hallway. I introduced myself. He was panting slightly, his hair and clothes were rough, dishevelled, his mannerisms were all abrupt and flurried, but his manner, you gradually realized, was perfectly assured; and still flexible, answering to every element, every possibility, in what was after all a difficult social situation.