‘The point is, it’s a whole load of waffle no-one’s going to believe, but it contains (…) and when that comes out, by God, people won’t need to go to school anymore, the whole concept of the public school will be defunct, people will see that an education can be got, more or less for free. Then, who will build our railways, bridges, fix our electric for next to nothing?’ We’ve got a regular Guy Fawkes here.
People will see that an education can be got, more or less for free. It’ll wreck the system from the ground up, stick a bit of maths on top of it, two business terms, then Harvard, Oxford, LSE, crippling time constraints, and university bills are a thing of the past, all gone. We can’t flash about in our suits, well, without everyone else doing it too.
Cameroon wiped a perfumed hand across his dew bedecked brow. He brought a laced handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed it, quivering on his glistening foread. He was quavering. ‘Something must be done, our whole lives, our identity, will be meaningless.’
What can be done? A tear dashed across his plump cheek, and he looked with puppy dog eyes at (…).
Something must be done about this dashed confounded Robert Lipscombe.
As I recall he was, bloody well, at Oxford. What’s the matter with him? Why would he spill the beans? Why would he betray us?
Cameroon was still quivering all over as he walked to the Tallboy: he looked a bit like someone attempting to walk during an earthquake [someone who’d swallowed a pneumatic drill], he took his smelling salts from the top draw of the tall boy.
It’s over I tell you, the secret’s out, the mystique a thing of the past…