of attendants, including physicians and nurses, totalled fourteen.
However, blood being thicker than broth, he was pulled through.

The Blaines were attached to no city. They were the Blaines of Lake
Geneva; they had quite enough relatives to serve in place of friends,
and an enviable standing from Pasadena to Cape Cod. But Beatrice grew
more and more prone to like only new acquaintances, as there were certain
stories, such as the history of her constitution and its many amendments,
memories of her years abroad, that it was necessary for her to repeat
at regular intervals. Like Freudian dreams, they must be thrown off,
else they would sweep in and lay siege to her nerves. But Beatrice was
critical about American women, especially the floating population of
ex-Westerners.

"They have accents, my dear," she told Amory, "not Southern accents or
Boston accents, not an accent attached to any locality, just an accent"--
she became dreamy. "They pick up old, moth-eaten London accents that
are down on their luck and have to be used by some one. They talk as
an English butler might after several years in a Chicago grand-opera
company." She became almost incoherent-- "Suppose--time in every
Western woman's life--she feels her husband is prosperous enough for her
to have--accent--they try to impress _me_, my dear--"

Though she thought of her body as a mass of frailties, she considered her
soul quite as ill, and therefore important in her life. She had once
been a Catholic, but discovering that priests were infinitely more
attentive when she was in process of losing or regaining faith in Mother
Church, she maintained an enchantingly wavering attitude. Often she
deplored the bourgeois quality of the American Catholic clergy, and was
quite sure that had she lived in the shadow of the great Continental