"Yes I do. It's only half a pint, and what's that? You can drink some of what you said you had in the place. I didn't go out to buy for you. Besides, I won't trust it a moment out of my hands. You would put something in it before I could wink."
"Really, really! What a strange woman. But won't you have a glass, Jane, to drink it out of? Let me get you a glass now?"
"No, you would put something in that too. Oh, I am up to your tricks, I am, old boy. You won't get the better of me. Very good brandy it is, too. Ah! strong rather."
Jane took a hearty pull at the bottle, so hearty a one that two thirds of the mixture vanished, and then with her hand on the neck of it, she sat glaring at Lupin, who was on the opposite side of the table, with an awfully satanic grin upon his ugly features.
"It has an odd taste."
"An odd taste?" cried Lupin. "It's a capital thing that you bought it yourself, and kept your hand over the bottle. I'm very glad of that, old woman."
"But I feel odd—I—I—ain't the thing. I don't feel very well, Lupin."
"Ha, ha, ha!"
"I—I feel as if I were dying. I—I don't see things very clearly. I am ill—ill. Oh, what is this? Something is amiss. Mercy, mercy!"
"Ha, ha, ha!"