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Shandygaff by Christopher Morley
page 109 of 247 (44%)
absence; when I lit the furnace again, pipes began to thaw and for an
hour or so we had a lively time. In the course of a battle with a pipe
and a monkey wrench I sprained a thumb, and the next morning I stopped
at the drugstore on my way to the train to get some iodine.

Rhubarb was at his prescription counter weighing a little cone of white
powder in his apothecary's scales. He looked far from well. There were
great pouches under his eyes; his beard was unkempt; his waistcoat
spotted with food stains. The lady waiting received her package, and
went out. Rhubarb and I grasped hands.

"Well," I said, "what do you think now about the war? Did you see that
the Canadians took a mile of trenches five hundred yards deep last week?
Do you still think Germany will win?" To my surprise he turned on his
heel and began apparently rummaging along a row of glass jars. His gaze
seemed to be fastened upon a tall bottle containing ethyl alcohol. At
last he turned round. His broad, naïve face was quivering like
blanc-mange.

"What do I care who wins?" he said. "What does it matter to me any more?
Minna is dead. She died two weeks ago of pneumonia."

As I stood, not knowing what to say, there was a patter along the floor.
The little dachshund came scampering into the shop and frisked about my
feet.




THE HAUNTING BEAUTY OF STRYCHNINE
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