Explore "The Parasite" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
March 24. The spring is fairly with us now. Outside my laboratory / window the great chestnut-tree is all covered with the big, glutinous, / gummy buds, some of which have already begun to break into little green / shuttlecocks. As you walk down the lanes you are conscious of the / rich, silent forces of nature working all around you. The wet earth / smells fruitful and luscious. Green shoots are peeping out everywhere. / The twigs are stiff with their sap; and the moist, heavy English air is / laden with a faintly resinous perfume. Buds in the hedges, lambs / beneath them -- everywhere the work of reproduction going forward!
I can see it without, and I can feel it within. We also have our / spring when the little arterioles dilate, the lymph flows in a brisker / stream, the glands work harder, winnowing and straining. Every year / nature readjusts the whole machine. I can feel the ferment in my blood / at this very moment, and as the cool sunshine pours through my window I / could dance about in it like a gnat. So I should, only that Charles / Sadler would rush upstairs to know what was the matter. Besides, I / must remember that I am Professor Gilroy. An old professor may afford / to be natural, but when fortune has given one of the first chairs in / the university to a man of four-and-thirty he must try and act the part / consistently.