Amiably serious he laid his hand on his "dear young friend's" arm.
"We are all of us a little strung up," he said.

"For my part I have been like sister Anne in the story.

But I cannot see anything coming.
Anything that would be the least good for anybody--I mean." Renouard had recovered sufficiently to murmur coldly his regret of this waste of time.

For that was what, he supposed, the professor had in his mind.
"Time," mused Professor Moorsom.

"I don't know that time can be wasted.
But I will tell you, my dear friend, what this is: it is an awful waste of life.