"I was aware you never knew what was the matter with a sick man; but I didn't know, till now, that you couldn't tell when he was dead." "Ha, ha!--well--ha, ha!--_yes_--well, you see, you--ha, ha!--you certainly have me there.

But it's a case without a parallel--it is, upon my honour.

You'll find it will not only be talked about, but written about; and, whatever papers appear upon it, will come to me; and I'll take care, Sir Bale, you shall have an opportunity of reading them." "Of which I shan't avail myself," answered Sir Bale.

"Take another glass of sherry, Doctor." The Doctor made his acknowledgments and filled his glass, and looked through the wine between him and the window.
"Ha, ha!--see there, your port, Sir Bale, gives a fellow such habits--looking for the beeswing, by Jove.

It isn't easy, in one sense at least, to get your port out of a fellow's head when once he has tasted it." But if the honest Doctor meant a hint for a glass of that admirable bin, it fell pointless; and Sir Bale had no notion of making another libation of that precious fluid in honour of Doctor Torvey.
"And I take it for granted," said Sir Bale, "that Feltram will do very well; and, should anything go wrong, I can send for you--unless he should die again; and in that case I think I shall take my own opinion." So he and the Doctor parted.
Sir Bale, although he did not consult the Doctor on his own case, was not particularly well.