This is the second time that I have written about a Charles Rycroft book. The first time I reviewed for the defunct New Society a 1985 anthology of Rycroft's writings entitled Psychoanalysis and Beyond. I said then that one piece in that book was autobiographical and many others contained autobiographical bits, but that none of them mentioned a wife or a child. I had never met him but, some months later, he was at an anniversary party of the Arbours Association, which I had co-founded. He must have asked someone to point me out. He came across the room and introduced himself. He said: “Two wives, two daughters, one son,”spun round and walked off. The man had style.