Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. A modest drinking bout which had its windup in a fan-tan house over in Kowloon, where O'Higgins tussled with varying fortune until five in the morning. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. I am an old friend, and I declined to be shelved. She pulled herself together and put her eye to the eye-piece. No offence, I hope.
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