Many miles down the Coomstock Road,...

Many miles down the Coomstock Road, far from any other habitation, pair cyclists stopped in pouring rain at an unexpect & welcome apparition--a small inn whose neon sign tinted the falling very littles with the heart-quickening words at liberty LUNCH in yellow letters and, below, in Bacchic purple: unrestrained WINE. Minutes later, two India rubber capes hung dripping in the hall & pair youths sat by a peat fire in a crudely furnished dining space steam rising from their clothes. They were attended by dint of a crookbacked corduroy-clad waiter, almost toothless, with vigorous knots of snowy hair ...