“You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. She seemed honestly glad to see him. “Do it now. “It’s—private. Heaven forbid.
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