"Worse and worse. Better wrestle with philosophies than lose yourself in the clouds. At any rate, if the poets are to send the philosophers to the right about, stick to Shakespeare."
"He is too material. He can't get rid of men and women."
"They are a little better, I should think, than Mephisto. Come, Franz, condescend to cravats and kid gloves, and let us go and see my cousin Christine Stromberg."
"I do not know the young lady."
"Of course not. She has just returned from a Munich school. Her brother Max was at the Lyndons' great party, you remember?"
"I don't remember, Louis. In white cravats and black coats all men look alike."
"But you will go?"
"If you wish it, yes. There are some uncut reviews on the table: amuse yourself while I dress."
"Thanks, I have my cigar case. I will take a smoke and think of Christine."
For some reason quite beyond analysis, Franz did not like this speech. He had never seen Christine Stromberg, but yet he half resented the careless use of her name. It fell upon some soul consciousness like a familiar and personal name, and yet he vainly recalled every phase of his life for any clew to this familiarity.