” She looked into her glass. "This your regular business?" "For the present. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. “I’m d——d if I understand this,” he said thoughtfully. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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