The Invisible Man
quarter of an inch or so. He rubbed his eyes and felt his neck again. "This beats ghosts," he said, and laughed stupidly.
"That 's better. Thank Heaven, you 're getting sensible!"
"Or silly," said Kemp, and knuckled his eyes.
"Give me some whiskey. I 'm near dead."
"It did n't feel so. Where are you? If I get up shall I run into you? There! all right. Whiskey? Here. Where shall I give it you?"
The chair creaked and Kemp felt the glass drawn away from him. He let go by an effort; his instinct was all against it. It came to rest poised twenty inches above the front edge of the seat of the chair. He stared at it in infinite perplexity. "This is—this must be—hypnotism. You must have suggested you are invisible."
"Nonsense," said the Voice.
"It 's frantic."
"Listen to me."
"I demonstrated conclusively this morning," began Kemp, "that invisibility—"
"Never mind what you 've demonstrated!—I 'm starving," said the Voice, "and the night is—chilly to a man without clothes."
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