You've been overworking yourself. I once got
like that on board the Sandhurst, working for the passing-out exam. I
got so bad that I could have seen anything.
DE REVES: Seen anything?
PRATTLE: Lord, yes; horned pigs, snakes with wings; anything; one of
your winged horses even. They gave me some stuff called bromide for it.
You take a rest.
DE REVES: But my dear fellow, you don't understand at all. I merely said
that abstract things are to a poet as near and real and visible as one
of your bookmakers or barmaids.
PRATTLE: I know. You take a rest.
DE REVES: Well, perhaps I will. I'd come with you to that musical comedy
you're going to see, only I'm a bit tired after writing this; it's a
tedious job. I'll come another night.
PRATTLE: How do you know I'm going to see a musical comedy?
DE REVES: Well, where would you go? _Hamlet_'s[8] on at the Lord
Chamberlain's. You're not going there.
PRATTLE: Do I look like it?
DE REVES: No.
PRATTLE: Well, you're quite right. I'm going to see "The Girl from
Bedlam." So long. I must push off now. It's getting late. You take a
rest. Don't add another line to that sonnet; fourteen's quite enough.
You take a rest. Don't have any dinner to-night, just rest. I was like
that once myself. So long.
DE REVES: So long.
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