It was the fever which depressed him.

There must be, he said, some internal disarrangement which would soon clear itself up.

Otherwise there seemed to be no very great reason why Kent should not get on his feet.

He smiled apologetically.
"Seems queer to say that, when a little while ago I was telling you it was time to die," he said.
That night, after ten o'clock, Kent went through his setting-up exercises four times.

He marveled even more than the preceding night at the swiftness with which his strength was returning.