"Well, don't you see, I say I must, if you insist, don't you see; it may be—it may be—egad! it might be very serious to let you wait."
"You promise?"
"Yes, I do. There!"
"Gout, mind, and nothing else; all gout, upon your honour."
"Aw, well! Yes."
"Upon your honour; why the devil can't you speak!"
"Upon my honour, of course."
"You kill me, making me talk. Well, 'tisn't in the toe—it's up here," and he uncovered his right shoulder and chest, showing some handkerchiefs and his night-shirt soaked in blood.
"What the devil's all this?" exclaimed the Doctor, rising suddenly, and the ruddy tints of his face fading into a lilac hue. "Why—why, you're hurt; egad, you're hurt. We must examine it. What is it with—how the plague did it all come about?"
"The act of God," answered Sir Jekyl, with a faint irony in his tone.