So!--Ping!
And I was as grave and sober as a judge, with all my champagne and
whisky gone into the vast serene. Feeling queer, you know--confoundedly
QUEER! Queer! Good Lord!"
He regarded his cigar-ash for a moment. "That's all that happened," he
said.
"And then you went to bed?" asked Evans.
"What else was there to do?"
I looked Wish in the eye. We wanted to scoff, and there was something,
something perhaps in Clayton's voice and manner, that hampered our
desire.
"And about these passes?" said Sanderson.
"I believe I could do them now."
"Oh!" said Sanderson, and produced a penknife and set himself to grub
the dottel out of the bowl of his clay.
"Why don't you do them now?" said Sanderson, shutting his pen-knife
with a click.
"That's what I'm going to do," said Clayton.
"They won't work," said Evans.
"If they do--" I suggested.
"You know, I'd rather you didn't," said Wish, stretching out his legs.
"Why?" asked Evans.
"I'd rather he didn't," said Wish.
"But he hasn't got 'em right," said Sanderson, plugging too much
tobacco in his pipe.
"All the same, I'd rather he didn't," said Wish.
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