"Well, you'll have to do your best to make her forget it."
"I look on that as a duty, Wimsey."
"Just so. Doing anything to-night? Care to come and look at a show?"
"Sorry—I'm booked. Taking Miss Dorland to the new thing at the Palladium, in fact. Thought it'd do her good—buck her up and so on."
"Oh?—good work!—Here's luck to it...."
"... and the cooking is getting perfectly disgraceful. I spoke to Culyer about it only yesterday. But he won't do anything. I don't know what's the good of the committee. This club isn't half what it used to be. In fact, Wimsey, I'm thinking of resigning."
"Oh, don't do that, Wetheridge. It wouldn't be the same place without you."
"Look at all the disturbance there has been lately. Police and reporters—and then Penberthy blowing his brains out in the library. And the coal's all slate. Only yesterday something exploded like a shell—I assure you, exactly like a shell—in the card-room; and as nearly as possible got me in the eye. I said to Culyer, 'This must not occur again.' You may laugh, but I knew a man who was blinded by a thing popping out suddenly like that. These things never happened before the War, and—great heavens! William! Look at this wine! Smell it! Taste it! Corked? Yes, I should think it was corked! My God! I don't know what's come to this Club."