Ah, of course. It was a marvellous spotted thing, as effective as the seven deadly sins. In a thoughtless moment I asked one of the gardeners what it was called. He told me it was a fine specimen of Robinsoniana , or something dreadful of that kind. It is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things.
Names are everything.
I never quarrel with actions. My one quarrel is with words. That is the reason I hate vulgar realism in literature. The man who could call a spade a spade should be compelled to use one. That is your error, Harry, believe me.