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The Adv. Of The Dying Detective
A Conan Doyle #20

Page 2 of 40

with him. 

The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared to
interfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might
seem.  She was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable
gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women.  He disliked
and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent.
Knowing how genuine was her regard for him, I listened earnestly
to her story when she came to my rooms in the second year of my
married life and told me of the sad condition to which my poor
friend was reduced. 

"He's dying, Dr.  Watson," said she.  "For three days he has been
sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day.  He would not let
me get a doctor.  This morning when I saw his bones sticking out
of his face and his great bright eyes looking at me I could stand
no more of it.  'With your leave or without it, Mr.  Holmes, I am
going for a doctor this very hour,' said I.  'Let it be Watson,
then,' said he.  I wouldn't waste an hour in coming to him, sir,
or you may not see him alive."

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