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153 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 1890
Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.Now that is what I call an opening paragraph. Well played, Mr. Doyle.
He smiled gently. ‘It is of the first importance,� he said, ‘not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit, a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the London poor.�As I wrap this up, I want to give a final kudo to Doyle for the very end of the novel. In my opinion, it could not have been written better and I almost bumped the whole novel up to 4 stars based on it alone. Even though it doesn’t give away any plot information, I'm still going to hide it behind a spoiler tag since it includes the final lines of the novel.