Explore "The Saving Clause" by H.C. McNeile on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
To say that John Marwood felt pleased with himself would be totally inadequate. For the remainder of the day he literally hugged his cleverness to his bosom; he turned it over and over in his mind; he reviewed it from every conceivable angle. To have combined a subtle revenge with the maximum chance of his own complete cure struck him as being the work of a genius. The fools! The treacherous fools! And when the operation had proved successful, he wouldn't give them away publicly--that would finish things far too quickly. He'd just hold his knowledge over their heads, and every now and then he'd give the wheel another little turn so as to keep them on the rack. He even thought out a few of the remarks he could say to his wife, as he sat in his invalid chair on the sunny promenade at Nice or Cannes; biting, sarcastic little sneers which would make her writhe.And at intervals her lover would come out to examine him, and he could watch the two of them together as a cat watches a mouse--gloatingly. Because he'd got them; _got them_; GOT THEM; and as he realized it he shook both his fists in the air, and the sweat glistened on his forehead with the strength of his passion.
A faint twinge of pain sobered him down; he must be careful--just at present--not to excite himself. Afterwards it would be different--after he was cured. But until then he wanted no return of that vile agony. Besides, there was one more thing that had to be done before the operation took place--in case anything should happen. He refused to allow himself to consider it as anything but the barest possibility--everybody said Daventry was the most brilliant of the younger surgeons--hut just in case of accidents it had to be done. Besides, in every way it was the most subtle touch in his whole scheme, and from the artistic point of view it was inconceivable that it should be omitted. He'd have to get that impassive brute of a footman to do his share of it, so tact would be necessary. It was a pity he hadn't always been quite so polite to him as he might have been.