"
"There is only one thing more disastrous to a man than the wisdom of
thirty-eight years," I declared with mulish inconvincibility, "and that
is the wisdom he may accumulate after that age."
She sighed and abandoned the argument. "We are going to make you well in
spite of yourself," she said.
They, namely, the doctor, the nurse, and Lola, have done their best, and
they have succeeded. But their task has been a hard one. The patient's
will to live is always a great factor in his recovery. My disgust at
having to live has impeded my convalescence, and I fully believe that
it is only Lola's tears and the doctor's frenzied appeals to me not
to destroy the one chance of his life of establishing a brilliant
professional reputation that have made me consent to face existence
again.
As for the doctor, he was pathetically insistent.
"But you must get well!" he gesticulated. "I am going to publish it,
your operation. It will make my fortune. I shall at last be able to
leave this hole of an Algiers and go to Paris! You don't know what I've
done for you! I've performed an operation on you that has never been
performed successfully before.
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