"I wonder if there is any more of that wine left ?" He took up the flagon and poured out another goblet, filled and drank it.
"Yes," he continued, speaking as though under some strange exultation of the mind rather than of the senses, "yes, that is the wine of Cos.

I drank it.

I, Ma-Rim[=o]n, the priest-student of the Higher Mysteries; I, whose feet faltered on the threshold of the Place of the Elect, and whose heart failed him at the portal of the Sanctuary, even though Amen-Ra was beckoning me to cross it." "Good heavens, what nonsense I am talking! Whatever there was in that wine or wherever it came from, I think it is quite time I was off, not to old Egypt, but the Land of Nod.

It seems to--no, it has not got into my head; in fact I am beginning to see that, after all, Hartley might very possibly be right about that forty-seventh proposition.

Well, I will do as the Russians say, take my thoughts to bed with me, since the morning is wiser than the evening.