"Horace, old top, what's the use?
We'd just like to be good if we could,
eh? But they won't let us. We'd
grow raving mad in a monastery. We
were honest at the time, but we
couldn't stand the monotony of watch
ing green olives turn purple upon the
silvery bough. Nay, nay!"
He pushed the glass away from him
and studied the air-bubbles as they
formed, rose to the surface, and were
dissipated.
"No matter what the game has
been, somehow or other, they've
bashed us, and we've lost out."
He emptied the glass and ordered
another. He and the bartender were
alone.
