"I see a thing like a teetotum spinning in and out--knocking into things--dashing from side to side--collecting numbers--more and more and more, till the whole place is thick with them.

Round and round they go--out there, over the rim--out of sight." His fingers showed that the waltzing teetotums had spun over the edge of the counterpane and fallen off the bed into infinity.
"Could you contemplate three weeks alone in this hotel ?" asked Hirst, after a moment's pause.
Hewet proceeded to think.
"The truth of it is that one never is alone, and one never is in company," he concluded.
"Meaning ?" said Hirst.
"Meaning?
Oh, something about bubbles--auras--what d'you call 'em?
You can't see my bubble; I can't see yours; all we see of each other is a speck, like the wick in the middle of that flame.

The flame goes about with us everywhere; it's not ourselves exactly, but what we feel; the world is short, or people mainly; all kinds of people." "A nice streaky bubble yours must be!" said Hirst.
"And supposing my bubble could run into some one else's bubble--" "And they both burst ?" put in Hirst.
"Then--then--then--" pondered Hewet, as if to himself, "it would be an e-nor-mous world," he said, stretching his arms to their full width, as though even so they could hardly clasp the billowy universe, for when he was with Hirst he always felt unusually sanguine and vague.
"I don't think you altogether as foolish as I used to, Hewet," said Hirst.

"You don't know what you mean but you try to say it." "But aren't you enjoying yourself here ?" asked Hewet.
"On the whole--yes," said Hirst.

"I like observing people.