There are books that linger in the mind because of their stories, characters or settings. There are books of such tragic intensity you feel you’ll take certain incidents and phrases with you to the grave. And there are books so funny that the mention of them induces an involuntary chuckle. Then there are the books that stay with you through the sheer verve and musicality of their language. The Lonely Londoners (1956) is that kind of book.