| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 638 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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| Text |
`Well, you can't heal the sick, neither can you speak new languages or cast out devils: but perhaps you can drink deadly things without suffering harm.' The speaker here suddenly drew from his waistcoat pocket a small glass bottle and held it out towards Misery, who shrank from it with horror as he continued: `I have here a most deadly poison. There is in this bottle sufficient strychnine to kill a dozen unbelievers. Drink it! And if it doesn't harm you, we'll know that you really are a believer and that what you believe is the truth!' `'Ear, 'ear!' said the Semi-drunk, who had listened to the progress of the argument with great interest. `'Ear, 'ear! That's fair enough. Git it acrost yer chest.' Some of the people in the crowd began to laugh, and voices were heard from several quarters calling upon Misery to drink the strychnine. `Now, if you'll allow me, I'll explain to you what |
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