"You don't hate the machine-shop only; you hate the whole show--the noise and jar and dirt, the scramble--the whole bloomin' craze to 'get on.' You'd like to go somewhere in Algiers, or to Taormina, perhaps, and bask on a balcony, smelling flowers and writing sonnets.

You'd grow fat on it and have a delicate little life all to yourself.

Well, what do you say?
I can lie like sixty, Bibbs! Shall I tell your father he'll lose another of his boys if you don't go to Sicily ?" "I don't want to go to Sicily," said Bibbs.

"I want to stay right here." The doctor's drowsiness disappeared for a moment, and he gave his patient a sharp glance.

"It's a risk," he said.