Good-Bye, Mr. Chips [antikvár]

when you are getting on in years (but not ill, of course), you get very sleepy at times, and the hours seem to pass like lazy cattle moving across a landscape. It was like that for Chips as the autumn ^erm progressed and the days shortened till it was actually dark enough to light the gas before call-over. For Chips, hke some old sea-captain, still measured time by the signals of the past; and well he might, for he lived at Mrs. Wickett's, just across the road from the school. He, had been there more than a decade, ever since he finally gave up his mastership; and it was Brookfield far more than Greenwich time that both he and his 1) landlady kept. 'Mrs. Wickett,' Chips would sing out, in that jerky, high-pitched voice that had still a good deal of sprightliness in it^ 'you might bring me a cup of tea before prep., will you ?' When you are getting on in years it is 5