“On the contrary, I have come to my senses. When one has been an honest man for thirty years, Prigson, one is thoroughly in love with honesty.”
“Especially the way it is appreciated! The reward of all your honesty will be, that you fall from the tree, like an over-ripe fruit, and lie there till somebody treads you flat.”
“Better so than trample on one’s self.”
“That is a gymnastic feat I would rather leave to a Münchausen. But you’re mad, Van Arlen—the matter is getting into shape after all.”
“Do you think so?” Van Arlen stood up, and looked his brother-in-law straight in the face. “Do you think I would ever allow it?”
“My good friend, you won’t be asked. Regenstein is going to negotiate the business.”
“Then I’ll inform the Minister. The supernumerary will be on his guard.”
“Like the dying gladiator—moriturus salutat—it’s heroic, but comic too. I’d be more sensible, if I were you, Van Arlen.”
“Prigson, when I came here this morning, with the feeling that I had broken my oath and betrayed my country.... Oh! I couldn’t stay here a day—I couldn’t live—I should lay hands on myself.”
“Treason—perjury—you do choose such fine words! and the real point is, whether you’re going to depart from an old habit or not. Believe me, you’re the slave of habit.”