"Trust me, you're warming things up," Lambert grunts. The rest of it -- candles in heads, needles in hearts -- is easily ignored as more mad rambling, at least until Strange starts moving his hands around.

"Hey," Lambert says sharply, twisting around to grab Strange's wrists ... one of them, anyway. Their current positions make it a bit hard to grab both. "What did I just say? No magic!"

Normally he'd be all for it, but normally his decision making would be just a sign impaired as Strange's. Being the sober friend is distressing. Lambert wonders if this is what it feels like to be Childermass all the time.