Oscar Wilde And The Nest Of Vipers - Plot & Excerpts
Conan Doyle, a true Scot, opted for porridge (with salt, not cream), followed by the kippers. Oscar settled for half a dozen Turkish cigarettes, coffee and Napoleon brandy.‘You must excuse me, gentlemen. I have spent the night with a vampire.’‘Who is this young man?’ demanded Conan Doyle in a hoarse whisper, looking anxiously about him as he spoke.We were seated at a large table by a bay window overlooking the river Thames. Henri, the Savoy’s Saturday-morning maître d’hotel, had given us Oscar’s favourite table and Oscar had given Henri a silver florin. (Oscar is absurdly generous – especially when he can least afford to be.) The tables adjacent to ours were both unoccupied. The waiters were well out of earshot. Nevertheless, throughout the breakfast, whenever Arthur spoke, he spoke in hushed tones.‘His name is Rex LaSalle. He is twenty-six years of age – twenty-seven on the sixteenth of October. We share a birthday – different years, alas. He hails from the Channel Islands – Guernsey or Jersey, I forget which.
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