Ethics on the London Underground

As I let myself fall into the only vacant seat in the London Underground carriage, I caught sight of something to my left. I closed my eyes to recapture detail. The occupant of the seat to my left had been holding a piece of paper titled with the name of someone I knew, and halfway down was a heading, “Mr X’s schooling.” Did I really know that Mr X? No, but it was not a usual name, and it was that of a friend of my parents long ago.

A rustle on my left, and I allowed myself to glance in that direction. The page that I had …