“If you say so, my pet. ” Sebastian said, though she swore she detected the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice. ” She appraised him. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. I’m starving.
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