Wonderful to be famous. According to the story, that's what the young lady said to the fat man, the fabulously fat, the fantastic, the famous fat man when he took it to lunch at a fashionable restaurant and everybody turned and stared.

Tell me, she said, do people always recognize you?

Does everybody always know who you are?

Well, my dear, said Mr. Chesterton,

yes they don't, they ask. Mr. Chesterton, if they don't, they ask.

Mr. Chesterton is the man who was Thursday is a little like that.

Roughly speaking, it's about anarchists.

It was written, remember, in the boom of bomb throwing in those radical irresponsible days of the nihilists,

and roughly speaking it's a mystery story.

It can be guaranteed that you will never, never guess the solution until you get to the end.

It is even feared that you may not guess it then.

You may never guess what the man who was Thursday is about, but definitely,

if you don't't you'll ask.

I am Gabrielle.

I am Gabriel Seine. I am the man who was Thursday.

That particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, will be remembered in that place for its strange sunset,

it looked like the end of the world.

It may be remembered by others too because it marked the first appearance in the place of the second poet of Safran Park.

For a long time a red-haired revolutionary had rained without arrival.

It was upon the night of the sunset that I, Gabriel Seine, ended his solitude.

Mr. Seam, you say you are a point of law.

I say you are a contradiction in terms.

...