Without warning Leonard Mann stops walking. The beach, quiet and windless on this grey day, seems to stop with him. The tussocks wait, seagulls trot…
R. D. FitzGerald, the poet, talks quietly in the big room, the slight burr in his voice, light falling on his white hair, strong brow…
'The theatre's not a dedication,' says Porter as he walks. 'My plays are more in the nature of plans for novels. They bring in handy…