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"What's the use?" With a great effort he seemed to pull himself together. He raised his eyes, and the pitiful half smile in them wrung the Scotsman's heart. "Say, Doc, I'm kind of glad it was you handed me this. It's hurt you, too. Hurt you pretty bad. Yes," he went on wearily, hopelessly, "pretty bad. But I got to thank you. Oh, yes. I want to thank you. I mean that.
"Now, Doc, you betray a reprehensible desire to anticipate the prescience of the Almighty in thus seeking to ascertain the future while we are still in the present tense, similar to the people who go to call on fortune-tellers, and the girls who always read the last page of a novel first, to see how it comes out!
He was a notable purrer; never had there been an Ingleside cat who purred so constantly and so ecstatically. "The only thing I envy a cat is its purr," remarked Dr. Blythe once, listening to Doc's resonant melody. "It is the most contented sound in the world." Doc was very handsome; his every movement was grace; his poses magnificent.
"No, I prefer Heaven, if I must leave this ship, but for the present, I believe I'm needed here, and so are you, doc. Look there!" The doctor glanced out upon the deck. "By Jove! You're right, old man, we are needed and badly. I say, old chap," he said, pausing for a moment to turn to Barry, "you are a dear old thing, aren't you?"
Doc doubted it. Damn it, he hadn't meant for her to try it, though she might have authority for routine experiments. But it was like her to refuse to pass on the word without trying to prove her own suspicion of him first. He tried to comfort himself with the fact that some men were immune, or seemed so; about three out of a hundred showed no signs.
You cannot escape, old man; that's the truth. You cannot escape. Life is life no matter where you find it." "Now don't git ter talkin' perlite to me," Jim warned. "Old Doc McPherson's orders was agin perlite conversation. Get a scrabble on yer! I'll knock yer up 'bout two or thereabouts." Outside, Truedale stood still and looked at the beauty of the night.
Grace questioned the doctor further on the attack that had been made on himself and Hippy, and asked him to indicate, as nearly as possible, the spot where the attack was made. The doctor was giving them the details when the door of the cabin was roughly thrown open and a man stepped in. "It's Paw! Hello, Paw. The Doc is here."
As soon as the telephone wires were stretched as far as our crater a message came for me to remain where I was until further orders. I had just received this message and was walking along, slowly, behind the rank of soldiers, who stood leaning against the parapet with their rifles thrust through the loops, when somebody said in English in East Side New York English I mean "Ah, there, Doc!"
He squeezed some of the gravy and bits of meat into one of his bottles, sticking to his purpose; then he fell to on the rest. But after a few bites, it was queerly unsatisfactory. The seemingly unappealing Mars-normal ragout suited his current tastes better, after all. Once the steward had cleared away the dishes, Doc went to work. It was better than wasting his time in dread.
As he read on the attorney could see Doc Weaver talking, as plainly as if he stood before him; he could see him at his desk in a frenzy of composition, and he recognized the apt quotations from Shakespeare that were Doc's specialty. Doc Weaver had written it. The attorney laid the paper down and studied the matter. How could Doc have learned of the affair?
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