Eliminate All Other Factors, And

Indeed, I Cannot Think Why The Whole Bed Of The Ocean Is Not One Solid Mass Of Oysters, So Prolific The Creatures Seem. Ah, I Am Wandering! Strange How The Brain Controls The Brain! What Was I Saying, Watson?

Just As An Octopus May Have His Den In Some Ocean Cave, And Come Floating Out A Silent Image Of Horror To Attack A Swimmer, So I Picture Such A Spirit Lurking In The Dark Of The House Which He Curses By His Presence, And Ready To Float Out Upon All Whom He Can Injure.

Man, Or At Least Criminal Man, Has Lost All Enterprise And Originality. As To My Own Little Practice, It Seems To Be Degenerating Into An Agency For Recovering Lost Lead Pencils And Giving Advice To Young Ladies From Boarding-schools.

I Am A Brain, Watson. The Rest Of Me Is A Mere Appendix.

There Is But One Step From The Grotesque To The Horrible.