lady bracknell, i admit with shame that I do not know. i only wish i did. the plain facts of the case are these: on the morning of the day you mention, a day that is for ever branded on my memory, i prepared as usual to take my virginity out in its perambulator. i had also with me a somewhat old, but capacious hand-bag in which i had intended to place the manuscript of a work of fiction that i had written during my few unoccupied hours. in a moment of mental abstraction, for which i never can forgive myself, i deposited the manuscript in the basinette, and placed the virginity in the hand-bag. and i left it, god forgive me, in the cloakroom of one of the larger railway stations in london. victoria.. the brighton line. i lived for that regret ever since. i would never forgive myself.