"
"Every window open, day and night, hot or cold, rain or shine," said
the doctor, firmly. "Do you use pillows?"
"Two."
"None at all. Sleep with your head flat. How many blankets?"
"Two, and a comfort."
"One army blanket, except in extremely cold weather," said the
doctor. "Do you like a pipe?"
"It always makes me sick. I peculiarly and particularly loathe and
detest a pipe."
"A pipe, my dear, deluded woman, is a comfort, a stay, a prop to a
man's soul, an aid to meditation and repose. I insist upon a
pipe--within moderation, of course. Do you like parrots? Sophy, are
you capable of supporting a parrot? I have already perceived your
reprehensible fondness for cats." He looked at his scratched hand.
"I have always wanted a parrot. I think they're the most--"
"Damnable brutes!" finished the doctor. "Gad, I'd as lief live in
the house with Sophronisba One! It is not moral to like a parrot.
What do you think of stewed rhubarb?"
I made a wry face. I abhor stewed rhubarb. Somehow, it always makes
me think of orphans in long-waisted gingham dresses with white china
buttons down the back. One way of punishing children for losing
their parents is to make them wear dark gingham dresses with china
buttons down the back and to eat stewed rhubarb for dessert.
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