"And utterly unaffected, Uncle."
"On the contrary, inordinate drinking afflicts me horribly, Nephew, stimulates me to thought, harrows me with memory, resurrects things best forgotten! Ah, there's the sun at last. I'll leave you, Peregrine—I'll out to greet the day."
"I should like to walk with you if I may, sir."
"By all means, Nephew, 't will ease your head, perhaps."
And so, moving softly lest we disturb the three sonorous sleepers, a wholly unnecessary precaution, we took our hats and surtouts and stepped out into an empty street swept by a clean, soft wind that cooled my throbbing temples, and my sick heaviness was lifted somewhat in the sweet, pure breath of dawn.
"You have been about town for nearly a year, haven't you, Peregrine?"
"Yes, sir, long enough to teach me I love the country better than I thought."
"You are sufficiently dissipated, I trust?"
"I endeavour to be, sir. Her Grace of Camberhurst shakes her head over me, though I do my best—"
"Does it require so great an effort?"