By the time we had done with him he knew more about that statue, for the time being, than he knew about anything else.

We soaked him in that statue, and only let him go at last on the condition that he would come again with us in the morning, when we could all see it better, and for such purpose we saw to it that he made a note in his pocket-book of the place where the statue stood.
Then we accompanied him to his favourite beer hall, and sat beside him, telling him anecdotes of men who, unaccustomed to German beer, and drinking too much of it, had gone mad and developed homicidal mania; of men who had died young through drinking German beer; of lovers that German beer had been the means of parting for ever from beautiful girls.
At ten o'clock we started to walk back to the hotel.

It was a stormy- looking night, with heavy clouds drifting over a light moon.

Harris said: "We won't go back the same way we came; we'll walk back by the river.

It is lovely in the moonlight." Harris told a sad history, as we walked, about a man he once knew, who is now in a home for harmless imbeciles.