He clutched the black's neck tightly, and drew a long breath; but the dead air seemed to shrivel his lungs, and he dropped his head and dozed till the house was reached.
Every effort of will was torture, yet he was called upon continually to make efforts of will.

He gave the black he had ridden a nip of trade- gin.

Viaburi, the house-boy, brought him corrosive sublimate and water, and he took a thorough antiseptic wash.

He dosed himself with chlorodyne, took his own pulse, smoked a thermometer, and lay back on the couch with a suppressed groan.

It was mid-afternoon, and he had completed his third round that day.