"[...] 'Less 'n it is away deep down in his own heart, at night, Facin' the storm, when all the town's a-sleepin' snug and tight- Him splashin' hence from scenes o' pride and sloth and gilded show, To some pore sufferer's bedside o' anguish, don't you know! Er maybe dead o' winter-makes no odds to Doc XXXII[...]".