A Month in the Country, by J.L. Carr.
A wonderful, wistful, lovely book. As economical as a poem.
“For goodness’ sake,” he said irritably, “I don’t mean that and you know I don’t, you cagey devil. I mean here, Oxgodby, the friends you’ve made, this marvelous summer, the splendid job you’ve done. I mean the lot. You can only have this piece of cake once, you can’t keep on munching away at it. Sad, but there it is!”