Mr. Skimpole, who always seemed quite unconscious of having been on delicate ground, then betook himself to beginning some sketch in the park which he never finished, or to playing fragments of airs on the piano, or to singing scraps of songs, or to lying down on his back under a tree and looking at the sky--which he couldn't help thinking, he said, was what he was meant for; it suited him so exactly.

Mr. Skimpole, who always seemed quite unconscious of having been on delicate ground, would then begin some sketch in the park which he never finished, or play fragments on the piano, or lie down on his back under a tree looking at the sky, an occupation which he said suited him exactly.
