Pride and Forgetfulness

I have always had a poor memory for names, and my memory for faces, which is better, is often failed by dislocation: wrong person, wrong place.

And so it was that I was walking one gray day down Old Compton St. in London's "Soho district":http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soho — for perfectly legitimate reasons, I might add, for those of a salacious turn of mind (you know who you are) — when I saw coming toward me, huddled as I was in a rumpled overcoat, a face I knew I knew. He looked, forgive me, like any one of a hundred civil servants Read more