“My tastes,” he said, still smiling, “incline me to the garishly sunlit side of this planet.” And, to tease her and arouse her to combat: “I prefer a farandole to a nocturne; I’d rather have a painting than an etching; Mr. Whistler bores me with his monochromatic mud; I don’t like dull colours, dull sounds, dull intellects;[…].”

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New relay rooms have been provided at Maidenhead West, Twyford and Reading Main Line East signalboxes; in the latter case an underportion of the building was reconstructed to provide additional rooms for the relay equipment and a diesel standby generator.

Yet, once more, the ripping of words and sentences is counterbalanced by a patching up process. Indeed, thanks to an overflowing of compound words, [Arundhati] Roy is also stitching up words, recomposing her text from its fragments; and the more tattered language is, the easier is it to patch it up, as if the verbal profusion and creation were a way of compensating the profusion of holes and rents.