They upbraid me for leaving
them in ignorance, and in hushed voices inquire as to my symptoms. They
both came this morning to the Albany to see what they could do for me.
I don't see what they can do, save help Rogers put studs in my shirts.
They expressed such affectionate concern that at last I cried out:
"My dear girls, if you don't smile, I'll sit upon the hearthrug and howl
like a dog."
Then they exchanged glances and broke into hectic gaiety, dear things,
under the impression that they were brightening me up. I am being
deluged with letters. I had no idea I was such a popular person. They
come from high placed and lowly, from constituents whom my base and
servile flattery have turned into friends, from Members of Parliament,
from warm-hearted dowagers and from little girls who have inveigled me
out to lunch for the purpose of confiding to me their love affairs. I
could set up as a general practitioner of medicine on the advice that is
given me. I am recommended cod-liver oil, lung tonic, electric massage,
abdominal belts, warm water, mud baths, Sandow's treatment, and every
patent medicament save rat poison.
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