"It's like my luck," he said, "to spend my last hours on earth with an ass." 🔊 But I was not offended. 🔊 "And a treacherous ass," he strangely added, tossing across to me a crumpled bit of paper which he had been holding in his hand. 🔊 I glanced at the writing on it—some sort of gibberish, apparently. 🔊 I laid it impatiently aside. 🔊
"Come, Soames, pull yourself together! 🔊 This isn't a mere matter of life or death. 🔊 It's a question of eternal torment, mind you! 🔊 You don't mean to say you're going to wait limply here till the devil comes to fetch you." 🔊
"I can't do anything else. I've no choice." 🔊
"Come! This is 'trusting and encouraging' with a vengeance! 🔊 This is diabolism run mad!" 🔊 I filled his glass with wine. 🔊 "Surely, now that you've seen the brute—" 🔊
"You must admit there's nothing Miltonic about him, Soames." 🔊
"I don't say he's not rather different from what I expected." 🔊
"He's a vulgarian, he's a swell mobs-man, he's the sort of man who hangs about the corridors of trains going to the Riviera and steals ladies' jewel-cases. 🔊 Imagine eternal torment presided over by him!" 🔊
"You don't suppose I look forward to it, do you?" 🔊