It was half-past nine o'clock, and we were all in the library, resting after the labours of the day.
Berry from the depths of the sofa grunted an assent.
"All the same," he added, "I must take something. Beard-eraser, for instance, and a clean neckerchief. Same as when you enlist."
"Everything you can possibly want's there already. Mrs. Foreland knows you're coming, and she'll put everything out."
"I have a weakness," replied her husband, "for my own sponge. Moreover, foolhardy as it may seem, I still clean my teeth. The only question is, what to put them in."
"What's the matter with your pockets?" said I.
"Nothing at present," said Berry. "That's why I shall want your dispatch-case."
"Nothing doing," said I. "I refuse to subscribe to my own inconvenience."
"Self," said Berry bitterly. "Why wasn't I born selfish? I've often tried, but you can't bend an oak, can you? Anybody can have my shirt at any time." Languidly he regarded his cuff. "No. Not this one, but almost any other. My life has been one long unrecognized sacrifice. And what is my reward?" He looked round about him with pitying eyes. "Poor bloated worms, you little know the angel that labours in your midst." His own being finished, with a sigh he took his wife's newly-lighted cigarette from the ashtray which they were sharing. "I had a dream last night," he added comfortably.
"What about?" said Jill.