The philosopher leant back in his chair, and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.
“Writing, as you see.”
“Writing!” echoed Santley.
“Yes; at my history. To-night’s experience has furnished me with material for a new chapter—on ‘Spiritual Vivisection.’”
The man was inconceivable, even satanic. Santley was again dominated by his supernatural sang froid’’ his supreme self-control.
“Have you a heart, man?” he cried, gazing in horror upon him.
Haldane smiled diabolically.
“A reference to the most rudimentary system of physiology,” he replied, “would convince you that I could not exist without one.”
“Death in your house, murder in your heart, you can sit here so calmly, still busy with your blasphemies? You cannot be human.”
“On the contrary, I am particularly human.”