“Oh, won’t you talk to me?” she begged.
“I don’t want to talk,” he said sourly.
“I’ll talk to you,” I cried enthusiastically; “come over here. Don’t bother about him—he’s always like that. Come and talk to me.” I called to an orderly to bring a chair and set it by my bed, but nobody paid any attention to me except the Sertabeeb, who spotted the symptom and smiled.
“Why don’t you want to talk, Mr. Hill?” Madame Paulus went on.
“It is wicked to talk unnecessarily,” Hill growled.
“Oh no, it isn’t. I see you are reading the Bible. It is a very good book to read, and I am sure it does not say it is wicked to talk. Jesus used to talk.”
“Some of the Bible is wrong,” said Hill. “I’m going to re-write it.”
“Dear! Dear!” said Madame Paulus, sympathetically. She turned to me.
“Here are some flowers and chocolate I brought you from the Embassy.”
“Are you sure they are not from the English? Are you certain they are not poisoned?” I cried. After much persuasion I was prevailed on to accept them. (As soon as she had gone I threw away the chocolate, saying she was an English spy and it was poisoned. Some of the Turks retrieved and devoured it.)