Doctor Granville, at the outside, will cure his pyorrhea with emetine for no more than a paltry fifty dollars.
Yes, by George, besides the risk to his life, and the discomfort, I've saved that man, all told, a cold thousand dollars to surgeon, hospital, and nurses." And while he talked on, holding Daughtry's eyes, a smell of roast meat began to pervade the air.

Doctor Emory smelled it eagerly.

So did Miss Judson smell it, but she had been warned and gave no notice.

Nor did she look at the juxtaposition of cigar and finger, although she knew by the evidence of her nose that it still obtained.
"What's burning ?" Daughtry demanded suddenly, sniffing the air and glancing around.
"Pretty rotten cigar," Doctor Emory observed, having removed it from contact with Kwaque's finger and now examining it with critical disapproval.

He held it close to his nose, and his face portrayed disgust.