on a dark and rainy night, a man was walking down the street.
perhaps he was lonely.
he heard footsteps behind him and quickened his pace.
roger! roger rafingham! hold up, old fellow!
that is not my name, he thought abstractedly, and stopped.
were you speaking to me? he turned and enquired of the red faced but distinguished looking individual who was hurriedly approaching him through the wind and rain.
roger! how astonishing to meet you! and on such a night! it is raining cats and dogs enough to float noah's ark all over again.
my name is not roger.
but of course it is, old fellow! do you not recognize me - sheridan hood-st nottingham? we were at bromley heath together, and in the guards. heavens, what a night!
but.of course! how could i have forgotten? forgive me, old boy - i am subject to these curious attacks of indigo from time to time, and forget who i am.
quite all right. quite understandable under the circumstances. look here, i know quite a quaint little tea shoppe nearby where we can get out of this beastly weather and talk of old times, what do you say?
i would prefer a jolly old inn where we can quaff some strong old english ale.
i know just the place. i say, you look a bit unsteady on your feet. take my arm, if you please, and we will repair there .
and so they did.
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