'Well, that's rich! Satire?
Why, it's a manifesto.

Gad, sir, it's a creed.

I believe in my duty to my senses and the effectuation of me for ever and ever, Amen.

The modern jargon! Topsy Turvydom! Run the world on the comic opera principle, but be flaming serious about it.

Satire, good Lord!' He flung himself back on his cushions with a snort of contempt.
'Look you, I'm not a pess--' he checked at the word and then took it at a run, 'a pessimist, but, as things are going on--well, you have been out of the country and--and you can't help it, I suppose.