man speaking in his
ear; but for a long time he could not understand. He wished it
would let him alone. He wanted to think about the Popes. He tried
nodding and murmuring a general sort of assent, as if he wished
to go to sleep; but it was useless: the voice went on and on. And
then suddenly he understood, and a kind of fury seized him.

How did they know he had once been a priest? Spying and
badgering, as usual! . . . No: he did not want a priest sent for.
He was not a priest any more; not even a Catholic. It was all
lies--lies from the beginning to the end--all that they had
taught him in the seminary. It was all lies! There! Was that
plain enough? . . .

Ah! why would not the voice be quiet? . . . He was in great
danger, was he? He would be unconscious again soon, would he?
Well, he didn't know what they meant by that; but what had it to
do with him? No: he did not want a priest. Was that clear
enough? . . . He was perfectly clear-headed; he knew what he was
saying. . . . Yes; even if he were in great danger . . . even if
he were practically certain to die. (That, by the way, was
impossible; because he had to finish the notes for Dr.
Waterman's new History of the Popes; and it would take months.)
Anyhow, he didn't want a priest. He knew all about that: he had
faced it all, and he wasn't afraid. Science had knocked all that
religious nonsense on the head. There wasn't any religion. All
religions were the same. There wasn't any truth in any of them.
Physical science had settled one half of the matter, and
psychology the other half. It was all accounted for. So he
didn't want a priest anyhow. Damn priests! There! would they let
him alone after that? . . .

And now as to the Piccolomini affair. It was certain that when
Aeneas was first raised to the Sacred College. . . .

Why . . . what was happening to the ceiling? How could he attend
to Aeneas while the ceiling behaved like that? He had no idea
that ceilings in the Westminster Hospital could go up like lifts.
How very ingenious! It must be to give him more air. Certainly he
wanted more air. . . . The walls too. . . . Ought not they also
to revolve? They could change the whole air in the room in a
moment. What an extraordinarily ingenious . . . Ah! and he wanted
it. . . . He wanted more air. . . . Why don't these doctors know
their business better? . . . What was the good of catching hold
of him like that? . . . He wanted air . . . more air . . . He
must get to