“You think you are different from other people,” Jason was saying, as Wolf came and stood by Mr. Urquhart’s side. “You think you have deeper feelings, because you own this big house and keep these servants! You think your ideas are wonderful, because you’ve got a great library. You think you have more respect than other people, because you’ve got money to buy it. You only asked me here and gave me this wine because those London newspapers praised me. You’ve always hated me. You’ve paid your man to spy on me. You’re not a bit different from your friend Round. You like good meals. You like watching boys bathe. You like warming your feet by your fire and thinking how great you are because your father left you some foreign wine! You’re exactly the same as everyone else, except that you’ve got an uglier face. You make a mystery of your life, when there’s nothing in it to boast about except worrying people with your nasty fancies! You think your life is grand and devilish, when all you are is a silly old man with a boy’s death on your conscience. Yes, on your conscience; but no more on your conscience than on anyone else’s!