"Sometimes."

"I thought as much. Some day you shall let me hear them; won't you?
And I will read you some of my own. But mine are in the savage vein,
a mere railing against the universe, altogether too furious to be
anything like poetry; I know that well enough. I have long since
made up my mind to stick to prose; it is the true medium for a
polemical egotist. I want to find some new form of satire; I feel
capabilities that way which shall by no means rust unused. It has
pleased Heaven to give me a splenetic disposition, and some day or
other I shall find the tongue."

It was midnight before Julian rose to leave, and he was surprised
when he discovered how time had flown. Waymark insisted on his
guest's having some supper before setting out on his walk home; he
brought out of a cupboard a tin of Australian mutton, which, with
bread and pickles, afforded a very tolerable meal after four hours'
talk. They then left the house together, and Waymark accompanied his
friend as far as Westminster Bridge.

"It's too bad to have brought you so far at this hour," said Julian,
as they parted.

"Oh, it is my hour for walking," was the reply. "London streets at
night are my element. Depend upon it, Rome was poor in comparison!"

He went off laughing and waving his hand.