"I never knew how far to believe the man. I suppose he does write a good deal?"
"Yes, that's quite true. I've seen his things in The Book Review and in The Pilgrim. I imagine too he makes a good deal out of the Church party."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Why, he acts a fit of remorse and horror at the life he is leading, goes to Father Gray to confession, and then borrows ten pounds to start a new life."
Sturtevant laughed an evil little snigger and poured out some more whiskey.
They had blown out the lamp as the oil was low, and the room was only lighted by the dull glow of the dying fire. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke and the smell of spirits, and both men felt bored and sleepy.
Condamine was afraid a fit of depression was approaching, so he raised himself in his chair, and began to drive away his thoughts by telling Sturtevant risky stories.
They were far too clever to really care much for cheap nastiness, but both felt it a relief from the state of nervous tension that a long day's continuous drinking had induced.
"One touch of indecency makes the whole world grin, to paraphrase the immortal bard," he said, and they both laughed and sighed.
Suddenly a man in the rooms above who had a piano began to play the Venusberg music from Tannhäuser very quietly.