Look here, Franklin Marmion, my friend, if you were not a rather over-worked man I should think you had had a good deal too much to drink.

Two bodies _cannot_ occupy the same space.

It is ridiculous, impossible!" As he said the last word, his voice rose a little, and, as it seemed, an echo came back from one of the corners of the room: "Impossible, impossible ?" There seemed to be a sarcastic note of interrogation after the last word.
"Eh?
What was that ?" and he looked round at the mummy-case.

Her long-dead Majesty was still reclining in it, silent and impassive.
"Oh, this won't do at all! Hartley and the fourth dimension be hanged! It strikes me that this way madness lies if you only go far enough.

I'll have that night-cap at once and go to bed." He put out his hand, took hold of the whisky decanter, and as he drew back his arm he saw that instead he held the enamelled flagon in his grasp.
"Well, well," he said, looking at it half-angrily, "if it is to be, it must be." He put out his left hand and took hold of the goblet, tilted the flagon, and out of the curved lip there fell a thin stream of wine, which glittered with a pale ruby radiance in the light of the electric cluster that hung above his writing-desk.