“Damned good chaps,” Brett said. “It’s all rot to talk about it. Michael and I understand each other.”
“She gave me Robert Cohn’s letters. I wouldn’t read them.”
“You wouldn’t read any letters, darling. You wouldn’t read mine.”
“I can’t read letters,” Mike said. “Funny, isn’t it?”
“You can’t read anything.”
“No. You’re wrong there. I read quite a bit. I read when I’m at home.”
“You’ll be writing next,” Brett said. “Come on, Michael. Do buck up. You’ve got to go through with this thing now. He’s here. Don’t spoil the fiesta.”
“Well, let him behave, then.”
“He’ll behave. I’ll tell him.”
“You tell him, Jake. Tell him either he must behave or get out.”
“Yes,” I said, “it would be nice for me to tell him.”
“Look, Brett. Tell Jake what Robert calls you. That is perfect, you know.”
“Oh, no. I can’t.”
“Go on. We’re all friends. Aren’t we all friends, Jake?”
“I can’t tell him. It’s too ridiculous.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“You won’t, Michael. Don’t be an ass.”