Sarakoff took out a large handkerchief and passed it across his face. "It's only the fear of physical violence," he said. "That's the only weak spot. Fear was formerly distributed over a wide variety of possibilities, but now it's all concentrated in one direction."
"Why?" Tearle stared at me questioningly.
"Because the germ is in us," I said. "We're immortal."
"Immortal?"
Sarakoff threw out his hands, and flung back his head. "Immortals!"
I crossed to my writing-table, and picked up a heavy volume.
"Here is the first edition of Buckwell Pink's System of Medicine. This book was produced at immense cost and labour, and it is to be published next week. When that book is published no one will buy it."
"Why not?" demanded Tearle. "I wrote an article in it myself."
"So did I," was my reply. "But that won't make any difference. No member of the medical profession will be interested in it."
"Not interested? I can't believe that. It contains all the recent work."