Miss S cornered Sam at the junction between Popular and Unpopular science today. She wanted to talk poetry; she’d spotted Sam at the desk reading Milton which Sam likes to declaim to us if the shop is quiet. He reads it out aloud in a very serious manner, lines like,
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep
Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide,
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav'n
Then he laughs like a hyena until he cries.
We left him there for 20 minutes before we rescued him. He would have done the same for us.
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