Sentence The Fourhundredandtwentyfifth 

Blood was racing through Pantagruel's ears making them buzz like a tocsin alarming him to the situation: where were these premonitions coming from? had he suffered a concussion when he collapsed? oh, he knew that some of his colleagues had concerns about the threats they envisaged from the possible directions which the leadership of Germany might take, while others saw Hitler as providing a bulwark against Bolshevism, his own Father-in-Law being of the latter persuasion; why, Lord Dalmuir's eldest son, Duncansby, had invited the Ambassador, Joachim von Ribbentrop, to be a paranymph at his forthcoming wedding to Lady Brunnhilda Lesmahagow, younger daughter of the Duke of Lesmahagow, a well-known Germanophile and frequent visitor to Hitler's retreat in the Bavarian mountains, who ofetn remarked that we are all Saxons anyway and it rankled with MacFarlane, for he knew that Brunnhilda, as a close friend of Daisy, was urging her to join Oswald Mosley's British Union of Fascists, along with the Mitford sisters, Diana and Unity, who had been their lifelong chums – all hugger-mugger with these Nasty Nazis, he thought to himself, unable to understand Daisy's blindness to their true natures; and “oh, my God,” he breathed to himself as Albie and Lizzie (he still, two years after the Coronation, thought of them as they had always been known in their social circle) running towards Ribbentrop, clearly a favourite with them, with the two girls

and the Queen giving him Nazi salutes - “tribulations, eh?” said Clement Dane, holding a glass of wine out for Pantagruel, who took it gratefully, “you'd expect a bit more decorum from the Windsors now that he's the King Emperor and she's, well, Diamond Lil, I suppose it's fair to say – marry the Number Two and scoop the pool, but maybe she guessed right, or had inside information, d'you suppose?” but Pantagruel couldn't bear to exchange gossip with the academic: “what do you think is going to happen in Europe, Sir Clement? you have many contacts over there?” and Dane looked at his carefully, before speaking: “if you are referring to my Jewish chums, I think they are in for a hard time, the ones who haven't managed, or simply can't afford, to get out: they've already been classified as untermenschen which means they can't own property, run businesses, have no legal rights, have to wear yellow stars, their kids can't go to school, their so-called friends turn their backs or cross the street when they see them coming – it's inhumane and dehumanising, and I tell you this, Pan, it's only the start; but you are in the FO you must know what's going on, surely?” and MacFarlane couldn't meet Dane's searching gaze, and he said: “my Daisy is attracted to that greaseball Mosley's lot – only because some of her friends are in it – and I'm worried for her too,” and Dane lowered his voice, though no-one could hear them anyway: “well, if I were you, Pan, I'd tag along with her, to keep an eye out for her, and my ears pinned well back to see what I might learn; you might even chum some of them over to Berlin, get a first hand view of Herr Fucking Hitler and understand what he's up to, not that I'm trying to teach you how to suck eggs; oh, and if I were you, which of course I'm not, I'd take my old Webley along, just in case, though you might not have one of your own, but then you're not me either, are you Pan?” and this time, Pan and Clement held each other's eyes and it was as if some kind of telepathic communication had taken place, because when they broke eye-contact, Professor Dane slapped Pantagruel on the back and said, “Champers is all very well, but I feel like

stiffener, care to join me?” and Pan gave the other a wink and said: “I don't mind if I do,” and speaking quietly, the Professor said, “that little piece you wrote for me yesterday could have done with a bit more proofing, you know, it caused the Dickens of an upset,” and Pan laughed, “sorry about that, my secretary Theresa had a bit too much to drink at the Opera, I don't think she could see straight, told me the words all merged into one,” and this time it was Sir Clement who laughed, “literally true, old chap, only too true!” as they both strolled across the lawn to where Dane knew very well that a nice bottle of Laphraoigh was waiting for them!