get well again.

I am off for America. When we see each other again, you will learn why.
I can be of no use to my wife. With Binswanger, she is in excellent
hands. Three weeks ago, when I visited her, she did not even recognise
me.

I have finished forever with my profession and my medical and
bacteriological studies. I have had ill luck, you know. My scientific
reputation has been torn to shreds. They say it was fuzz instead of the
exciting organism of anthrax that I examined in a dye and wrote about.
Perhaps, but I don't think so. At any rate, the thing is a matter of
indifference to me.

Sometimes I am thoroughly disgusted with the clownish tricks the world
plays upon us, and I feel an approach to English spleen. Nearly the whole
world, or, at least Europe, has turned into a cold dish on a station
lunch-counter, and I have no appetite for it.

* * * * *

He wound up with cordial lines to his dying friend, and handed the letter
to a German porter to mail.

In his room, the temperature was icy, the window-panes frozen over.
Without undressing he lay down in one of two vast, chilly beds.

At best, the frame of mind of a traveller with a night's journey behind
him and an ocean crossing ahead of him, is not enviable. Frederick's
condition was aggravated by a whirl of painful, partially warring