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They’re fighting dogs in the bathroom of the Bank of England, and Secretary Grahame as usual turns a blind–no, he can’t quite think that. A deaf ear. A numb tongue.

Thus willfully distanced, Kenneth doesn’t squint when the lunatic in the lobby offers him a scroll tied with two ribbons. He just plucks the black one. The scroll opens to unspeakable inscriptions: dead gods and blood, infinity, the roiling despair of–

Water. They’re subduing the lunatic with a firehose; Kenneth crouches behind a chair, shaking, unharmed.

Later he quits and writes The Wind in the Willows (seriously, look it up).