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Among other things,
he had been playing juvenile lead, it appears, in the comic opera
of Bulgarian politics. I also heard of the Viennese dancer. My
own little chronicle, which he insisted on my unfolding, compared
with his was that of a caged canary compared with a
sparrowhawk's. Besides, I am not so expansive as Pasquale, and
on certain matters I am silent. He also gesticulates freely, a
thing which is totally foreign to my nature. As Judith would
say, he has a temperament. His moustaches curl fiercely upward
until the points are nearly on a level with his flashing dark
eyes. Another point of dissimilarity between us is that he seems
to have been poured molten into his clothes, whereas mine hang as
from pegs clumsily arranged about my person. By no conceivable
freak of outer circumstance could I have the adventures of
Pasquale.
And yet he thinks them tame! Lord! If I found myself hatching
conspiracies in Sofia on a nest made of loaded revolvers, I
should feel that the wild whirl of Bedlam had broken loose around
me.


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