“Something.”
“There’s our old oracle. ‘Something!’ You were always fond of those short words.”
“The universe lies in a word.”
“Max, I can’t follow you, if you go on like that. I never could, you know.”
“Tell me about yourself now, about Rome, about Brussels.”
Van der Welcke, smoking, described his life, more or less briefly, through the blue clouds of his cigarette. Brauws listened:
“Yes,” he said. “Women....”
He had a habit of not finishing his sentences, or of saying only a single word.
“And what have women done to you?” asked Van der Welcke, gaily.
Brauws laughed: