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Updated: May 26, 2025
It was nearly ten when Gilbert returned to the chambers, and all was still quiet, that heavy slumber continuing; an artificial sleep at the best, produced by one of Mr. Mew's sedatives. The sofa had been wheeled from the bedroom to the sitting-room, and placed in a comfortable corner by the fire.
His interrogation must await the answer to that awful question life or death. The woman came in presently, bustling and out of breath. She had found a very trustworthy person, recommended by Mr. Mew's assistant a person who would come that evening without fail. "It was all the way up at Islington, sir, and I paid the cabman three-and-six altogether, which he said it were his fare.
It was at the end of a march, when our stomachs were hollow, our frames ready to drop, and our mood ravenous and inflamed. One of Mew's dogs was sick: it was necessary to kill it: he asked me to do it. 'Oh, said I, 'you kill your own dog, of course. 'Well, I don't know, he replied, catching fire at once, 'you ought to be used to killing, Jeffson.
"I see. There is danger evidently," Gilbert said gravely. "I will wait and hear what the doctor says. He will come again to-day, I suppose?" "Yes, sir; he's sure to come in the evening." "Good; I will stay till the evening. I should like you to go round immediately to this Mr. Mew's house, and ask for the address of some skilled nurse, and then go on, in a cab if necessary, and fetch her."
James Mew's work on The Black Art from which we learn that Albert of Cologne was accused by the vulgar of holding illicit commerce with the devil. They believed as a matter of course that he was aided by Beelzebub. And legends grew about him in wild luxuriance.
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