Yet
look how many of us are now here. In this age of research I
hesitate to attempt to account for it, except on the entirely
unscientific theory that what you don't know doesn't hurt you.
Doubtless a physician could give you a better explanation, but
his would cost you more than mine has.
But we digress. Let us get back to our main subject, which is
myself. I shall never forget my first real meal in that hospital.
There was quite a good deal of talk about it beforehand. My nurse
kept telling me that on the next day the doctor had promised I
might have something to eat. I could hardly wait. I had visions
of a tenderloin steak smothered in fried onions, and some French-fried
potatoes, and a tall table-limit stack of wheat cakes, and a few
other incidental comfits and kickshaws. I could hardly wait for
that meal.
The next day came and she brought it to me, and I partook thereof.
It was the white of an egg. For dessert I licked a stamp; but
this I did clandestinely and by stealth, without saying anything
about it to her.
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