Parenthesised addition, or qualifier, really, was Alec's idea – as unconventional and extraneous ideas tend to be – and when I registered my objection,
not least that it negated the punchiness of the title, and moreover was verging on untruth – wouldn't he agree, please, that it
a happier year? And Alec allowed that it was, much happier, the happiest: but also that it wasn't quite a year.
The interim fell short of the twelvemonth; though we weren't to realize exactly that at the time. 'War' is a certainty; 'when' is not.
It occurs however that Alec was just trying – and, as usual, succeeding – to get the last word in.
I could have argued that it mattered not which of us had the final say, words-wise, because this isn't my story, it's ours – and so Alec would rejoin, if it doesn't matter,
then it might as well be him, mightn't it? Here I admit defeat – the sweetest, most winning defeat there can be, hardly one at all. I live life now with my woes in miniature.
So it's no great trial to remember how this wonderment came about: I'd remember it carefully daily if I wasn't so busy still
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