An array of glass tubes and vary-colored bottles stood below the window, with a microscope, and small wooden boxes on one side.

And there was, besides, something which I think he called an "incubator"-- a metal affair, standing on four slender legs; a number of glass tubes emerged from this, each carefully stoppered with cotton wool, and a thermometer thrust itself up in one corner.
A really high degree of proficiency in any particular subject invariably leads to atrophy in other directions.

A man who eats and breathes and dreams Toxins, for instance, who lives so much in Toxins that he corresponds almost daily with learned and unintelligible Germans; who knows so much about Toxins that when he enters, with shabby trousers and a small hand-bag, into the room of a polished specialist in Harley Street, he sees as in a dream the specialist rise and bow before him--who, when he can be persuaded to contribute a short and highly technical article to a medical magazine, receives a check for twenty-five guineas by return of post--a man of this kind is peculiarly open to the danger of thinking that anything which cannot be expressed in terms of Toxin is negligible nonsense.

It is the characteristic danger of every specialist in every branch of knowledge; even theologians are not wholly immune.
It was so in the case of Dr.Whitty (I forget all the initials that should follow his name).

He had never been married, he never took any exercise; occasionally, when a frog's temperature approached a crisis, he slept in his clothes, and forgot to change them in the morning.