After a pause of about half a minute, Dolly said, “I suppose so.”
“You will become,” I pursued, idly drawing patterns with my finger on the sundial, “wrinkled, rough, fat—and, perhaps, good.”
“You’re very disagreeable today,” said Dolly.
She rose and stood by me.
“What do the mottoes mean?” she asked.
There were two; I will not say they contradicted one another, but they looked at life from different points of view.
“Pereunt et imputantur,” I read.
“Well, what’s that, Mr. Carter?”
“A trite, but offensive, assertion,” said I, lighting a cigarette.
“But what does it mean?” she asked, a pucker on her forehead.