The psychology of semi-starvation would make an interesting study; and it would bring out very clearly the irrefutable truth that the only way to get any peace for the mind is by throwing sops to the physical appetites; that passions must be allayed, not suppressed; and that the moment anything is suppressed it becomes an obsession. For there is poison in every unacted desire, and the only way to deal with the appetites is to be neither their slave nor tyrant. Asceticism renders a clear view of life impossible. And during those days, if one sufficiently objectified one’s emotions, there would be always found the insidious germ working its way into the most unlikely places. Even in books there was no escape from it; it deliberately perverted the author’s meaning. And one occasion comes back very vividly. I was reading _La Débâcle_ and had reached the scene where Louis Napoleon is sitting alone in his room, and his servants lay before him dish after dish which he leaves untouched. And because of this perpetual hungriness the whole effect of the incident was spoilt. I could not get into the mood necessary to appreciate the effect Zola had aimed at. All I could think was, “Here is this appalling ass Louis Napoleon, surrounded with meats and fish, entrées and omelettes, and the fool does not eat them. If only they had given me a chance!” It was interesting, too, to notice its effect on a man like Milton Hayes. Naturally it hit him in that most vulnerable point, his theory of Popular Taste. One morning I found him sitting on a seat, dipping into three books in turn, _Lorna Doone_, _Pickwick Papers_, and _The Knave of Diamonds_. “A strange selection,” I said. “No,” he said; “they are all the same, really. They’ve all done the same thing; they’ve sold; they’ve got the same bedrock principle somewhere, and I think I’ve found it.” “Well, what is it?” “Gratification of appetite. All these accounts of big meals and luxury. That’s what gets over. People don’t want psychology. But they’ll smack their lips over the dresses and feasts in _The Knave of Diamonds_; and then look at the venison pasties in _Lorna Doone_, and the heavy dinners in _Pickwick_. That’s what people want. They have not got these things; but they want to be told they exist somewhere, and that they are there to be found. If ever you want to write a book that will really sell, remember that: gratification of appetite: make their mouths water.” § 2 There was, of course, in the form of the _Kantine_ an official method of supplementing the ordinary issue. And across that counter strange things passed. Every day provided a fresh experiment. A rumour would fly round the camp that there was a new sort of tinned paste to be had, “I saw a fellow coming out with a biggish-looking tin,” some one would say. “I don’t know what was in it. But it was too big for boot polish.”