I'm off to the office and heaven knows when I shall be back.

I want to talk to you about this." He sat on the foot of the bed and threw the proofs of the gun book on to Septimus's body, vaguely outlined beneath the clothes.

In the gray November light--Zora's carefully chosen curtains and blinds had not been drawn--Sypher, pink and shiny, his silk hat (which he wore) a resplendent miracle of valetry, looked an urban yet roseate personification of Dawn.

He seemed as eager as Septimus was supine.
"I've sat up half the night over this thing," said he, "and I really believe you've got it." "Got what ?" asked Septimus.
"_It_.

The biggest thing on earth, bar Sypher's Cure." "Wait till I've worked out my railway carriages," said Septimus.
"Your railway carriages! Good gracious! Haven't you any sense of what you're doing?
Here you've worked out a scheme that may revolutionize naval gunnery, and you talk rot about railway carriages." "I'm glad you like the book," said Septimus.
"Are you going to publish it ?" "Of course." "Ask your publisher how much he'll take to let you off your bargain." "I'm publishing it at my own expense," said Septimus, in the middle of a yawn.
"And presenting it gratis to the governments of the world ?" "Yes.