Berry from the depths of the sofa grunted an assent.
"All the same," he added, "I must take something. Beard-eraser, for
instance, and a clean neckerchief. Same as when you enlist."
"Everything you can possibly want's there already. Mrs. Foreland knows
you're coming, and she'll put everything out."
"I have a weakness," replied her husband, "for my own sponge. Moreover,
foolhardy as it may seem, I still clean my teeth. The only question is,
what to put them in."
"What's the matter with your pockets?" said I.
"Nothing at present," said Berry. "That's why I shall want your
dispatch-case."
"Nothing doing," said I. "I refuse to subscribe to my own
inconvenience."
"Self," said Berry bitterly. "Why wasn't I born selfish? I've often
tried, but you can't bend an oak, can you? Anybody can have my shirt at
any time." Languidly he regarded his cuff. "No. Not this one, but almost
any other. My life has been one long unrecognized sacrifice. And what is
my reward?" He looked round about him with pitying eyes. "Poor bloated
worms, you little know the angel that labours in your midst." His own
being finished, with a sigh he took his wife's newly-lighted cigarette
from the ashtray which they were sharing.
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