The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. You know, I’ve done no work at all this afternoon. So here I am, king of all I survey, with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player. I’m starving. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses.
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