Don't be squeamish, old fellow.

You're cold and weak, you know you are; you ought to take it.

You're not too good, surely--eh?
Man alive, if you never do anything worse than take a drop of brandy, you'll pass muster.

Come, I say, you're keeping me waiting." Jeffreys sunk on a chair, and raised the bottle half-way to his lips.
What was it, as he did so, which flashed before his eyes and caused him suddenly to set it down and rise to his feet?
Nothing real, it is true, yet nothing new.

Just a momentary glimpse of a boy's pale face somewhere in the dim gloom of that little room, and then all was as before.