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clapping his hands to mark the time, singing in
a hoarse voice:
“Billy, my son, Billy, my sonny, soooooooonny!”
They neither heard nor saw me coming. I
stared in consternation at the happy family.
The face of the intoxicated monkey had become
quite human, the face of the old drunkard looked
exactly like the face of a gigantic gorilla. The
family likeness was unmistakable.
“Billy, my son, Billy, my son, sooooooony!”
Was it possible? No, of course it was not
possible but it made me feel quite creepy. . . .
A couple of months later I found the old doctor
standing again by my carriage talking to Tappio.
No, thank God, Billy was all right, it was his
wife who was ill this time, would I oblige him
by having a look at her?
We climbed once more up to his flat, I had so
far had no idea that he shared it with anybody
but Billy. On the bed lay a young girl, almost a
child, with closed eyes, evidently unconscious.
“I thought you said it was your wife who
was ill, is this your daughter?”
No, it was his fourth wife, his first wife had
committed suicide, the second and the third
had died of pneumonia, he felt sure this one was
going the same way.
My first impression was that he was quite
right. She had double pneumonia, but an
enormous effusion in the left pleura had evidently
escaped his notice. I gave her a couple of
hypodermic injections of camphor and ether
with his dirty syringe, and we started
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