"It must be, or it wouldn't have lived so long," she answered.
"A pleasing sentiment," he replied, "but old age is not a mark of truth, for nothing is grayer than falsehood."
"But it finally dies, and truth lives on," she rejoined.
"No, it is often buried."
"So is a mummy buried, but it is brought to light again."
"Yes, but it doesn't live; it is simply a mummy."
"Oh, well," she said, "I know that you are wrong, but I won't worry with it."
John Richmond opened the door of Henry's room. "Come in," Henry called, advancing to meet him. "How are you? And now that you are here, make yourself at home."
"All right," Richmond replied, sitting down, reaching out with his foot and drawing a spittoon toward him. "How is everything running?"
"First-rate."