"You are among friends," the doctor said. "Souza has told us about you."
"I owe my life to you," Hall said.
"From what I have learned," the doctor laughed, "you are not an easy man to kill."
"When can I get out of bed?"
"Tomorrow. That is just as well, señor. The garrison tailor is cleaning your suit now. Would you like more maté?"
"Could I have another brandy?"
"Of course. But then you must sleep."
"I'm tired of sleeping."
"I am prepared for that." The doctor called for the corporal, ordered him to prepare a hypodermic syringe. "You must get some sleep, señor," he said.
In the morning, the doctor pronounced Hall well enough to leave the commandant's bed. Hall's clothes, the suit cleaned and freshly pressed, the shirt washed and ironed, the shoes polished to a glow, were laid out on a chair near the bed. "We do things thoroughly in the army," the doctor said.