Here's the passage, completely unexpected when I came across it during last week's reading frenzy:
A stout, old-young man of forty, Mr. Cedric Watherson of Watherson & Reeves, Solicitors, sat at his office table, knitting. He was not a good knitter, but he was proud that he could knit at all. He had learned when a prisoner of war in 1917, having walked straight into a German trench on his first journey up the line; and with the passage of years the circumstance of his capture had also become, in an odd way, a matter for pride. He liked sentences which began, "I remember when I was a prisoner in Holzminden." When a client was announced, he put the ball of wool, the needles, and the unfinished sock in the top left-hand drawer, smoothed his hair with both hands, and waited for the visitor to be shown in.
Who's the author? All guesses welcome - and if you don't know who it is, please feel free to explain who you think it should be.
While you're here, why not pop down to the previous post, Eclectic, and recognize or recommend a book. I'll put the name of anyone who comments here or there (or here and there!) in a drawing - let's say on March 1st - and I'll mail the winner a copy of a Green-reader's favorite.