“You see, the trouble with the professor is that, once he stops for lunch, he tends to lose interest. He drinks a good deal, you know,” he confided. “What’s left over gets thrown away or gnawed by rats in the basement. Whereas I will pickle you…” “I beg your pardon?” Prestcott said weakly. “Pickle you,” Lower replied enthusiastically. “It is the very latest technique. If we joint you and pop you into a vat of spirits, you will keep for very much longer. So much better than brandy. Then when we have the leisure to dissect a bit we just fish you out and get to work. Splendid, eh? Nothing will be
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