There was a lull in the storm, but as yet no sign of improving
weather; clouds drove swiftly across a lowering sky. My eyes turned
to the Lacinian promontory, dark upon the turbid sea. Should I ever
stand by the sacred column? It seemed to me hopelessly remote; the
voyage an impossible effort.
I talked with a man, of whom I remember nothing but his piercing
eyes steadily fixed upon me; he said there had been a wreck in the
night, a ship carrying live pigs had gone to pieces, and the shore
was sprinkled with porcine corpses.
Presently I found myself back at the _Concordia_, not knowing
exactly how I had returned. The dyspepsia--I clung to this
hypothesis--was growing so violent that I had difficulty in
breathing: before long I found it impossible to stand.
My hostess was summoned, and she told me that Cotrone had "a great
physician," by name "Dr. Scurco." Translating this name from dialect
into Italian, I presumed that the physician's real name was Sculco,
and this proved to be the case. Dr. Riccardo Sculco was a youngish
man, with an open, friendly countenance.
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