Граф Монте-Крісто

The Lemonade.

           Oh,dosomethingforme."Thedoctorflewtohispatient."Thatemetic,Villefortseeifitiscoming."Villefortsprangintothepassage,exclaiming,"Theemetic!theemetic!isitcomeyet?"Nooneanswered.Themostprofoundterrorreignedthroughoutthehouse."IfIhadanythingbymeansofwhichIcouldinflatethelungs,"saidd’Avrigny,lookingaroundhim,"perhapsImightpreventsuffocation.Butthereisnothingwhichwoulddonothing!""Oh,sir,"criedBarrois,"areyougoingtoletmediewithouthelp?Oh,Iamdying!Oh,saveme!"

           "Apen,apen!"saidthedoctor.Therewasonelyingonthetable;heendeavoredtointroduceitintothemouthofthepatient,who,inthemidstofhisconvulsions,wasmakingvainattemptstovomit;butthejawsweresoclinchedthatthepencouldnotpassthem.Thissecondattackwasmuchmoreviolentthanthefirst,andhehadslippedfromthecouchtotheground,wherehewaswrithinginagony.Thedoctorlefthiminthisparoxysm,knowingthathecoulddonothingtoalleviateit,and,goinguptoNoirtier,saidabruptly,"Howdoyoufindyourself?well?"

           "Yes."

           "Haveyouanyweightonthechest;ordoesyourstomachfeellightandcomfortableeh?"

           "Yes."

           "ThenyoufeelprettymuchasyougenerallydoafteryouhavehadthedosewhichIamaccustomedtogiveyoueverySunday?"

           "Yes."

           "DidBarroismakeyourlemonade?"

           "Yes.

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Сторінка 1408 з 1932