Fragment of letter from Oxford
Dearest Toby,
I sit, as I write these words, in our old chambers at Balliol remembering how you reclined on the divan, before the fire, cracking quail's eggs on the heel of your monogrammed silk slipper as I read you the bawdier snatches of Catullus.
Do you remember the Rector? How witty he was, at our last meeting of the Piers
Gaveston Society, brandishing the appliance like a monstrance. Sadly, he has
returned, under something of a cloud to a quieter parish. There was an 'incident' in the choir stalls at Brazenose. As the poor man strained for the high E in 'The Lamentation of the Prophet Jeremiah', there was a warm whooshing sound and the last four feet of his colon prolapsed onto the ancient boards. I suspect he has been immoderate in his appetites.
At the beginning of Michealmas term, young Hugo, (The Apollo of the Lower
Fourth) came up. Thank heavens Rupert got to him before the barmaid at the Turl. He now affects an effeminate walk which barely conceals his new found bandiness and sports a slim volume of his own verse and a satisfied smile. I would horsewhip the little bitch were it not for his dangerous intimacy with Uncle Montgomery in the Alps last season.
I passed the last weekend with Basil at his Father's estate. There is little to
report beyond the appearance of his young sister in my rooms. She had been
reading dangerous passages of lurid novels and had decided that I, trusted family friend, should initiate her into the ways of the world. She was entertaining for her freshness and quite charmingly uninhibited. I fear only for young Peregrine, her betrothed, when she begins their wedding night by bending over the ottoman and offering him the pomade jar.
I long for your return. Some of the freshmen look so..... Fresh!
Ever yours
Eustace