Nils. You had better have a little nightcap with me.
Windrank. 64, 65—That's what I expected! Get you gone, tempter! I'll never take a drink again—until the day after to-morrow.
Nils. But it's a fine remedy against the plague, and with all this cadaverous stuff about, you had better be careful.
Windrank. 70—So you really think it's good for the plague?
Nils. Excellent!
Windrank. Only a drop, then! (He drinks from the bottle offered him by Nils.)
Nils. Only a drop! But tell me, are you suffering from vertigo since you are counting to a hundred?
Windrank. Hush! Hush! There's an epoch coming.
Nils. An epoch?
Windrank. Yes, the day after to-morrow.