"
I gripped him by the arm.
"Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can it indeed be that
you are alive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing
out of that awful abyss?"
"Wait a moment," said he. "Are you sure that you are really
fit to discuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my
unnecessarily dramatic reappearance."
"I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my
eyes. Good heavens, to think that you -- you of all men --
should be standing in my study!" Again I gripped him by the
sleeve and felt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it. "Well, you're
not a spirit, anyhow," said I. "My dear chap, I am overjoyed
to see you. Sit down and tell me how you came alive out of
that dreadful chasm."
He sat opposite to me and lit a cigarette in his old nonchalant
manner. He was dressed in the seedy frock-coat of the book
merchant, but the rest of that individual lay in a pile of white
hair and old books upon the table. Holmes looked even thinner
and keener than of old, but there was a dead-white tinge in his
aquiline face which told me that his life recently had not been
a healthy one.
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