`You don't believe in me,' observed the PROXY.`Why do
you doubt your senses?'
`Because,' said FARINA, `a little thing affects them.
A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats.
You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of
mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone
potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you,
whatever you are!'
|
