The emotion left Mike's voice. We were all friends together.
"I'm not so damn drunk as I sounded," he said.
"I know you're not," Brett said.
"We're none of us sober," I said.
"I didn't say anything I didn't mean."
"But you put it so badly," Brett laughed.
"He was an ass, though. He came down to San Sebastian where he damn well wasn't wanted. He hung around Brett and just looked at her. It made me damned well sick."
"He did behave very badly," Brett said.
"Mark you. Brett's had affairs with men before. She tells me all about everything. She gave me this chap Cohn's letters to read. I wouldn't read them."
"Damned noble of you."
"No, listen, Jake. Brett's gone off with men. But they weren't ever Jews, and they didn't come and hang about afterward."
"Damned good chaps," Brett said. "It's all rot to talk about it. Michael and I understand each other."
"She gave me Robert Cohn's letters. I wouldn't read them."
"You wouldn't read any letters, darling. You wouldn't read mine."
"I can't read letters," Mike said. "Funny, isn't it?"
"You can't read anything."
"No. You're wrong there. I read quite a bit. I read when I'm at home."
"You'll be writing next," Brett said. "Come on, Michael. Do buck up. You've got to go through with this thing now. He's here. Don't spoil the fiesta."
"Well, let him behave, then."
"He'll behave. I'll tell him."
"You tell him, Jake. Tell him either he must behave or get out."
