I returned from the City at about three o'clock on that May afternoon, pretty well disgusted with life. I had been for about three months in the Old Country, and was fed up with it. The weather made me irritable, the talk of the ordinary Englishman made me sick. I couldn't get enough exercise, and the amusements of London scemed as flat as soda-water that has been standing in the sun. It made me bite my lips to think of the plans 1 had been building up those last years in Bulawayo. I had got my collection of things--not one of the big ones, but good enough for me, and I had figured out all kinds of ways of enjoying myself. My father had brought me out from Scotland at the age of six, and I had never been home since; so England was a sort of Arabian Nights to me, and I counted on stopping there for the rest of my days. But from the first I was disappointed with it. In about a week, I was tired of seeing sights, and in less than a month I had had enough of restaurants and theatres. I had no real pal to go about with, which probably explains things. Plenty of people invited me to their houses, but they didn't seem mu interested in me. They would fling me a question or two about my hometown, and then get on their own affairs. A lot of ladies asked me to tea to meet schoolmasters from New Zealand and editors from Vancouver, and that was the most depressing business of all. Here I was thirty-seven years old, sound in wind and limb, with enough money to have a good time, yawning my head off all day. I had just about settled to clear out and get back to the grassland, for I was the best bored man in the United Kingdom.
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I returned from the City at about three o'clock on that May afternoon, pretty well disgusted with life. I had been for about three months in the Old Country, and was fed up with it. The weather made me irritable, the talk of the ordinary Englishman made me sick. I couldn't get enough exercise, and the amusements of London scemed as flat as soda-water that has been standing in the sun. It made me bite my lips to think of the plans 1 had been building up those last years in Bulawayo. I had got my collection of things--not one of the big ones, but good enough for me, and I had figured out all kinds of ways of enjoying myself. My father had brought me out from Scotland at the age of six, and I had never been home since; so England was a sort of Arabian Nights to me, and I counted on stopping there for the rest of my days. But from the first I was disappointed with it. In about a week, I was tired of seeing sights, and in less than a month I had had enough of restaurants and theatres. I had no real pal to go about with, which probably explains things. Plenty of people invited me to their houses, but they didn't seem mu interested in me. They would fling me a question or two about my hometown, and then get on their own affairs. A lot of ladies asked me to tea to meet schoolmasters from New Zealand and editors from Vancouver, and that was the most depressing business of all. Here I was thirty-seven years old, sound in wind and limb, with enough money to have a good time, yawning my head off all day. I had just about settled to clear out and get back to the grassland, for I was the best bored man in the United Kingdom.
write summary
plz ans me fast ..I will mark u as brailist...plz