On one occasion I
saw him push away a plate of something, plant his elbows on the
table, and hide his face in his hands; thus he sat for ten minutes,
an image of indignant misery, and when at last his countenance was
again visible, it showed traces of tears.
I dwell upon the question of food because it was on this day that I
began to feel a loss of appetite and found myself disgusted with the
dishes set before me. In ordinary health I have the happiest
qualification of the traveller, an ability to eat and enjoy the
familiar dishes of any quasi-civilized country; it was a bad sign
when I grew fastidious. After a mere pretence of dinner, I lay down
in my room to rest and read. But I could do neither; it grew plain
to me that I was feverish. Through a sleepless night, the fever
manifestly increasing, I wished that illness had fallen on me
anywhere rather than at Cotrone.
CHAPTER IX
MY FRIEND THE DOCTOR
In the morning I arose as usual, though with difficulty. I tried to
persuade myself that I was merely suffering from a violent attack of
dyspepsia, the natural result of _Concordia_ diet.
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