If you try ard enough, it is of course possible, by a process known as reading between the lines, to make practically any letter that has ever been written mean almost anything that you choose to discover in it.

If you were to wake up one morning, with a clear conscience and a healthy body, and yet at the instant at opening your eyes were to become aware of a faint feeling of depression and discomfort, as though there were a headache somewhere in the room; and if at the same time you found your waking thoughts straying in the direction of self-analysis accompanied by a strange distaste for the lot of mortal man;if, as I say, all this were to happen to you, you would of course realise at once that it must be Sunday.