Even now the only change is, a few more spoonfuls of the same broth.

It is hard, for his appetite cries out aloud; and he has agonising visions of beefsteak pies and buttered toast seen in _mirage_.

Still his spirits don't fail on the whole and now that the fever is all but gone, they rise, till we have to beg him to be quiet and not to talk so much.

He had the flower-girl in by his bedside yesterday, and it was quite impossible to help laughing, so many Florentine airs did he show off.

'Per Bacco, ho una fame terribile, e non voglio aver piu pazienza con questo Dottore.' The doctor, however, seems skilful....
But you may think how worn out I have been in body and soul, and how under these circumstances we think little of Jerusalem or of any other place but our home at Florence.