In Selingman's there was a shade of something almost like repulsion.

He poured himself out a glass of champagne.
"Draconmeyer," he exclaimed, "you are a cold-blooded fish, indeed! You can sit there without blinking and think of this thing which we have done.

Now as for me, I have a heart.

I can never see the passing out of the game of even a bitter opponent, without a shiver.

Talk philosophy to me, Draconmeyer.