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Doyle, Arthur Conan

"The Memoirs Of Sherlock Holmes"

In an instant I had caught him round the waist, and held him up while Holmes and Pycroft untied the elastic bands which had disappeared between the livid creases of skin. Then we carried him into the other room, where he lay with a clay-coloured face, puffing his purple lips in and out with every breath -- a dreadful wreck of all that he had been but five minutes before.


? ? ? ? "What do you think of him, Watson?" asked Holmes.


? ? ? ? I stooped over him and examined him. His pulse was feeble and intermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a little shivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ball beneath.


? ? ? ? "It has been touch and go with him," said I, "but he'll live now. Just open that window, and hand me the water carafe." I undid his collar, poured the cold water over his face, and raised and sank his arms until he drew a long, natural breath. "It's only a question of time now," said I as I turned away from him.


? ? ? ? Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trousers' pockets and his chin upon his breast.


? ? ? ? "I suppose we ought to call the police in now," said he. "And yet I confess that I'd like to give them a complete case when they come.


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