A PURSUIT RACE
middle-aged man with a large stomach and a bald head and he had many things to do. “You ought to stop off here, Billy, and take a cure,” he said. “I’ll fix it up if you want to do it.”
“I don’t want to take a cure,” William Campbell said. “I don’t want to take a cure at all. I am perfectly happy. All my life I have been perfectly happy.”
“How long have you been this way?”
“What a question!” William Campbell breathed in and out through the sheet.
“How long have you been stewed, Billy?”
“Haven’t I done my work?”
“Sure. I just asked you how long you’ve been stewed, Billy.”
“I don’t know. But I’ve got my wolf back,” he touched the sheet with his tongue. “I’ve had him for a week.”
“The hell you have.”
“Oh, yes. My dear wolf. Every time I take a drink he goes outside the room. He can’t stand alcohol. The poor little fellow.” He moved his tongue round and round on the sheet. “He’s a lovely wolf. He’s just like he always was.” William Campbell shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
“You got to take a cure, Billy,” Mr. Turner
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