Life embraced the young, tolerated the middle-aged, did not want to know about the old."" All are here in this frail novel questioning the sancrosanctity of family on this day when very young Philip and Lucy decide to marry, and possibly buy an old house in the country, before returning home -- particularly to Philip's mother Felicity who hovers and tries to reassure herself of her sons' continuing love via the more substantial and inevitable Sunday roast. But Philip is restive and resentful (""I don't know what you're talking about. I don't understand a thing you say"") and is a little more attuned to the problems of age and the old woman, Mrs. Fletcher, next door. By the end of the day all will have gone in their separate directions: Mrs. Fletcher will have died; Felicity will have escaped to a less real world; and Philip and Lucy leave -- together. There are astute recognitions, frightened and familiar, perhaps all as irrecoverable as the past which here disturbs and distorts the present. Thus tout passe, tout casse, tout lasse, leaving not very much to forget to remember.