"It looks as though your time were near.

In Sophocles' time there was a man who----" "Oh, bother Sophocles, you know I never let you talk anything but wholesome nonsense when I drop in for a smoke with you," says the younger man.

"You began very well, with that superstition of yours, but I won't have it spoiled by erudition.

Tell me about your ward." "Would that be nonsense ?" says the professor, with a faint smile.
They are sitting in the professor's room with the windows thrown wide open to let in any chance gust of air that Heaven in its mercy may send them.

It is night, and very late at night too--the clock indeed is on the stroke of twelve.