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Stones and grass were clammy with
warm moisture.
"It's a funny thing," said Marten, after a long pause. "I've often
noticed it. When I'm not actually at work, I'm always thinking about
girls. I wish I could talk better Latin, or Italian. Not that I should
be running after them all day long. I've got other fish to fry. I've
got to catalogue my minerals, and I'm only half-way through. For the
matter of that, I haven't come across half as many nice ones here as I
thought I would."
"Minerals?"
"Girls. I don't seem to take to these foreigners. But there's one--"
"Go on."
"You're a queer fellow, Phipps. Don't you ever look at women? I believe
you have the making of a saint in you. Fight against it. A fellow can't
live without vices. Here you are, with lots of money, stewing in a back
bedroom of a second-class hotel and getting up every morning at five
o'clock because you like lying in bed late. Is that your way of
mortifying the flesh? Got a soul, eh? Get rid of it. The soul! That
unhappy word has been the refuge of empty minds ever since the world
began.


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