“Monstrous muddle of things we have got,” I said, “jumbled streets, ugly
population, ugly factories--”
“You'd do a sight better if you had to do with it,” said my uncle,
regarding me askance.
“Not me. But a world that had a collective plan and knew where it meant
to be going would do a sight better, anyhow. We're all swimming in a
flood of ill-calculated chances--”
“You'll be making out I organised that business down there--by
chance--next,” said my uncle, his voice thick with challenge.