“I’mnotwalkingfast，amI？“criedGibberne，andslackenedhispacetoaquickmarch。
“You’vebeentakingsomeofthisstuff，“Ipuffed。
“No，“hesaid。“AttheutmostadropofwaterthatstoodinabeakerfromwhichIhadwashedoutthelasttracesofthestuff。Itooksomelastnight，youknow。Butthatisancienthistory，now。“
“Anditgoestwice？“Isaid，nearinghisdoorwayinagratefulperspiration。
“Itgoesathousandtimes，manythousandtimes！“criedGibberne，withadramaticgesture，flingingopenhisEarlyEnglishcarvedoakgate。