“Only on three occasions before the fever finally abated did I have moments of conscious clarity. The first time, I think, must have been briefly on the morning following my arrival, for just long enough to remember what had happened and to take in my surroundings. I had been undressed and was wearing a clean linen shift a size or so too small for me. The material was strained across my chest and had already split a little near the top of one of the sleeves. I was lying on a straw-filled mattres...s, covered with a couple of rough blankets which smelled sweetly of dried lavender, close to a central hearth. A fire of driftwood and sea coal, both doubtless scavenged for along the shores of the tidal River Avon, belched smoke through a hole in the roof of the cottage's single room. An adjustable pot-hook hung from the metal crossbar of a cooking crane, and from the hook was suspended a sizeable iron pot which made bubbling noises as well as giving forth the smell of a good broth; an aroma which at any other time would have made my mouth water, but then only made me heave.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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