Hobson allowed cheeses with a rather drawn expression. But he did not see what that had to do with it, either.
“It is not purely a question of appetite,” he said.
“Sex, sir, is purely a question of appetite!” Tarr replied.
Hobson inclined himself mincingly, with a sweet chuckle.
“If it is pure sex, that is,” Tarr added.
“Oh, if it is pure sex—that, naturally⸺” Hobson convulsed himself and crowed thrice.
“Listen, Hobson!—You mustn’t make that noise. It’s very clever of you to be able to. But you will not succeed in rattling me by making me feel I am addressing a rooster⸺”
Hobson let himself go in whoops and caws, as though Tarr had been pressing him to perform.
When he had finished, Tarr said: