Janet retired to the boudoir end of the caravan and read.

It was a poem entitled: ODE TO THE REV.

FRANCIS GASTREEE (Dedicated to Mr.Nicholas Imber) O thou most base, Who hadst possession of the dwelling-place Of William Shakespeare, Stratford's loveliest son, What is it thou hast done?
Thou shouldst have treasur'd it, as in a case We keep a diamond or other jewel.
Instead of which thou didst it quite erase, O wicked man, O fool! What should be done to thee?
Hang'ed upon a tree?
Or in the pillory Placed for all to pelt with eggs and bitter zest?
Aye, that were best.
Would that thou wert i' th' pillory this moment And Stratford all in foment, Thou knave, thou cad, Thou everything that's bad! HESTER MARGARET AVORY.
Janet said it was splendid, after you had got hold of the difficult rhyming idea.
"That's because it's an ode," said Hester.

"Odes go like that.

All jumpy.