I thought of the luckless wedding guest in Coleridge's grim ballad as I sat listening to this modern-ancient mariner.

I had to remind myself of all the bright things to be bought for three thousand pounds, every now and then, in order to endure with fortitude, if not serenity.

And now the day's work is done, I begin to think it might as well have been left undone.

How am I to disintegrate the mass of prosiness which I have heard this day?
For three mortal hours did I listen to my ancient mariner; and how much am I the wiser for my patience?
Clever as you may fancy yourself, my friend Hawkehurst, you don't seem to be the man for this business.

You have not the legal mind.