When Igor returned to the workshop Jeremy was carefully pouring the blue medicine into a spoon. When the spoon was exactly full, he tipped it into the sink.
    
“They check, you know,” he said. “They think I don’t notice.”
    
“I’m thure they mean well, thur.”
    
“I’m afraid I can’t think so well when I take the medicine,” he said. “In fact I think I’m getting on a lot better without it, don’t you? It slows me down.”

***

The Thief of Time - p97