Prattle: I tell you what. You've been overworking yourself. I once got like that on board the Sandhurst, working for the passing-out exam. I got so bad that I could have seen anything.
de Reves: Seen anything?
Prattle: Lord, yes; horned pigs, snakes with wings; anything; one of your winged horses even. They gave me some stuff called bromide for it. You take a rest.
de Reves: But my dear fellow, you don't understand at all. I merely said that abstract things are to a poet as near and real and visible as one of your bookmakers or barmaids.
Prattle: I know. You take a rest.
de Reves: Well, perhaps I will. I'd come with you to that musical comedy you're going to see, only I'm a bit tired after writing this; it's a tedious job. I'll come another night.
Prattle: How do you know I'm going to see a musical comedy?
de Reves: Well, where would you go? Hamlet's[8] on at the Lord Chamberlain's. You're not going there.
Prattle: Do I look like it?
de Reves: No.