"I'll finish that glass somehow," he observed. He passed his hand across his forehead. "This is extraordinary. It's just like taking poison, Harden, and yet it is an excellent brand of wine."
"Do get these oysters taken away," I said. "They serve no purpose lying here. They only take up room."
"Wait till I finish my glass."
With infinite trouble he drank the rest of the champagne. The effort tired him. He sat, breathing quickly and staring before him.
"That's a pretty woman," he observed. "I did not notice her before."
I followed the direction of his gaze. A young woman, dressed in emerald green, sat at a table against the opposite wall. She was talking very excitedly, making many gestures and seemed to me a little intoxicated.
Sarakoff poured out some more champagne.
"I am getting back," he muttered. He looked like a man engaged in some terrific struggle with himself. His breath was short and thick, his eyes were reddened. Perspiration covered his face and hands. He finished the second glass.
"Yes, she is pretty," he said, "I like that white skin against the brilliant green. She's got grace, too. Have you noticed white-skinned women always are graceful, and have little ears, Harden?"
He laughed suddenly, with his old boisterousness and clapped me on the shoulder.