With one hand he held her; with the other, his pipe.
"Now let us talk," said Jacob, as he walked down Haverstock Hill between four and five o'clock in the morning of November the sixth arm-in-arm with Timmy Durrant, "about something sensible." The Greeks--yes, that was what they talked about--how when all's said and done, when one's rinsed one's mouth with every literature in the world, including Chinese and Russian (but these Slavs aren't civilized), it's the flavour of Greek that remains.

Durrant quoted Aeschylus--Jacob Sophocles.

It is true that no Greek could have understood or professor refrained from pointing out--Never mind; what is Greek for if not to be shouted on Haverstock Hill in the dawn?
Moreover, Durrant never listened to Sophocles, nor Jacob to Aeschylus.

They were boastful, triumphant; it seemed to both that they had read every book in the world; known every sin, passion, and joy.

Civilizations stood round them like flowers ready for picking.