When the door closed behind her, Pasquale shook his head at me.
"Wasted! Criminally wasted!" "What ?" "That," he answered, pointing to the door.

"That bundle of bewildering fascination." "That," said I, "is an horrible infliction which only my cultivated sense of altruism enables me to tolerate." "Her name ought to be Margarita." "Why ?" I asked.
"_Ante porcos_," said he.
Certainly Pasquale has a pretty wit and I admire it as I admire most of his brilliant qualities, but I fail to see the aptness of this last gibe.

At the club this afternoon I picked up an entertaining French novel called _En felons des Perles_.

On the illustrated cover was a row of undraped damsels sitting in oyster-shells, and the text of the book went to show how it was the hero's ambition to make a rosary of these pearls.

Now I am a dull pig.