"It is no more shameful than the mental violence to which you have subjected us through centuries. Anyway, you're not strong enough to get them from me."
"Do you expect me to seize you and twist your arm until you drop those papers?"
"You can never have them otherwise. Try it!"
He sat silent for a while, alternately twisting his moustache and the cat's tail. Presently he flung the latter away, rose, inspected the stars on the wall, and then began to pace to and fro, his gloved hands behind his back, spurs and sword clanking.
"It's getting late," he said as he passed her. Continuing his promenade he added as he passed her again. "I've had no luncheon. Have you?"
He poked around the room, examining the fantastic furnishings in all their magnificence of cotton velvet and red cheesecloth.
"If this is Dill's room it's a horrible place," he thought to himself, sitting down by a table and shuffling a pack of cards.
"Shall I cast your horoscope?" he asked amiably. "Here's a chart."
"No, thank you."
Presently he said: "It's getting beastly cold in this room."