” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. He hated the taste of it. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. It feels like I’ve got a snake of mucus stuffing my entire throat, just one big solid rope. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. They found a river pool and disrobed together as they had for hundreds of years.
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