He was a bit weak sometimes, and what he needed was something to pull up his strength.

The country would do this-plenty of fresh air, riding, walking, and that sort of thing.
He had left Montreal behind in gay spirits, and he continued gay for several hours, holding himself' erect in the seat, noting the landscape, telling stories; but he stumbled with weakness as they got out of the coach for luncheon.

He drank three full portions of whiskey at table, and ate nothing.

The silent landlady who waited on them at last brought a huge bowl of milk, and set it before him without a word.

A flush passed swiftly across his face and faded away, as, with quick sensitiveness, he glanced at Nicolas and another passenger, a fat priest.