(纪念威廉·希基先生)从印度出来，一年挣一万块钱，换来了肉体和脾气，一个干瘪的浮士德，他的魔鬼与消化作交易，他在洛克的山谷里蘸过手指，付出了高昂的代价吗?谁知道呢?可以肯定的是，他有一种愤怒，一张鲨鱼皮的脸，满是黄色的杰克，还有一种不顾一切的年龄暴政，在特威克纳姆需要海龟蛋。有时，在月光下，他会在一艘驳船上漂浮，而雇工们则吹着他们偷偷摸摸的旗子，由一个穿着金色外套的王公带着鸽子饼伺候…马德拉……还有马德拉群岛……或者在他的巴黎之城，和银色的青蛙在一起，他在一辆装备，优雅的战车上鼓着肚子，穿过雾湾，和船长们一起吃海豚牛排。谁知道呢?也许还有比牛排更糟糕的东西，比牡蛎更糟糕的东西——酱汁、盖碗、食物的世界就像绘制的地图，上面点缀着红葡萄酒和烤鳝鱼，还有台球比赛、烧焦的香槟的嘈杂声，上流社会的漂亮女士们总是在发脾气，或者又要发脾气了，法家法官、勃艮第酒和判决书? Thus to inhabit huge, lugubrious halls Damp with the steam of entrees, glazed with smoke, Raw drinking, greasy eating, bussing and brawls, Drinking and eating and bursting into bed-chambers. But, in the end, one says farewell to them; And if he'd curse to-day?God damn your blood!? Even his curses I'd not altogether condemn, Not altogether scorn; and if phantoms ate? Hickey, I'd say, sit down, pull up, set to: Here's knife and fork, there's wine, and there's a barmaid. Let us submerge ourselves in onion-soup, Anything but this 'damned profession of writing'.