As he hesitated whether to go in or hurry on, the door, which had been ajar, opened more widely, and a great, claw-like hand was thrust out, and he was guided to the big Windsor chair.
“Hurt, doctor? All over blood? Don’t say you didn’t dress him down.”
North made no answer, for the low-ceiled room seemed sailing round as he turned his ghastly face and gazed in the speaker’s eyes.
Volume Two—Chapter Fifteen.
A Terrible Accident.
“My turn now,” said Moredock, with a low chuckle. “Times as he’s given me doses. He, he, he! I can give him one now.”
The old sexton took a key from his vest, and opened a curious old oaken corner cupboard, upon whose shelves were ranged a variety of objects which gleamed out from their prison, and seemed to suggest that they had not been honestly come by. The most prominent object, however, was a square, black schnapps bottle, with a footless glass turned upside down beside it.
“There, doctor,” chuckled the old man, as he made the cork squeak and the liquid gurgle when he poured some out; “that arn’t the same physic as you give me, but it’s real line, and was sent down to me by a London gent as I’ve dealt with many a time.”