It was the face of a spy branded by his own deception. […] We smile, but our withholding makes our smile false. When we are exhilarated, or drunk – or even, as I am told, make love – the reserve does not dissolve, the gyroscope stays vertical, the monitory voice reminds us of our calling. Until gradually our very withholding becomes so strident it is almost a security risk by itself. So that today – if I go to a reunion, say, or we have a Sarratt old-boys’ night – I can actually look round the room and see how the secret stain has come out in every one of us. I see the overbright face or the underlit one, but inside each I see the remnants of a life withheld. I hear the hoot of supposedly abandoned laughter and I don’t have to mark down the source of it to know that nothing has been abandoned – not its owner, nor its interior restrictions, nothing.