"The fact is--I'm out of sorts, this morning.

My mind misgives me--I don't know why." "Mind ?" repeated Geoffrey, in high contempt.

"It's flesh--that's what's the matter with _you._ You're nigh on a stone over your right weight.
Mind he hanged! A man in healthy training don't know that he has got a mind.

Take a turn with the dumb-bells, and a run up hill with a great-coat on.

Sweat it off, Arnold! Sweat it off!" With that excellent advice, he turned to leave the room for the third time.