One starts again. Simcox—funny little man—walks in jerks—talks in
jerks—like one’s style. _Le style c’est l’homme._ There you are!
Simcoxical! One writes Simcociously.
Simcox then—or Simcox now—the phrases are interchangeable—man of
letters, very well posted, one may say. Busy all day writing letters to
himself, skipping out to put them in the pillar-box, skipping home to
receive them from the postman. Whimsical idea. Oh, very! One quite
chuckles at having conceived it.
Then Simcox dies—_cacoëthes scribendi_, complicated with writer’s cramp.