then there was that conversation , after the formal dinner had broken up , and some of them were playing kottabos battleships , trying to sink floating saucers in a fountain by throwing the dregs of wine from their wine cups at them - success demanded a neat overarm throw , so that the wine flew in a dense , tight stream to its target - and a few people had wandered outside in a warmer than usual night for the tuscan spring , into the gardens where the darkness afforded privacy , and that unmistakable moan of ecstasy came from somewhere out in the darkness , and someone , he could n't remember who , had asked : `` are things the same in rome as they are here , between men and women ? ''