There, he sees his good friend Rene DesCartes wallowing in self pity, crying over a whiskey.
"My dear friend," Newton says, "whatever is the matter?"
"Ah, Isaac, tis terrible! My wife has been cheating on me!" DesCartes bemoans, "We are separating and I fear I shall never love again!"
"Nonsense!" says Newton, "Join me and we shall go have a romp at the brothel! Surely some woman of ill repute will catch your fancy!"
DesCartes considers, but returns to his drink; "Sorry my dear friend, but I cannot find the passion within me. Will you stay here and keep me company?"
Newton sighs, knowing that his night is ruined, but knowing his friend is in need. "Of course I shall stay my friend; sometimes you need to put DesCartes before the whores."
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