“Tottering, feeble, zig-zag,” said a surgeon, speaking of one stricken with the plague.
“Her fine open, ivory brow—”
“Is marked all over with disgusting pustules.”
“Her breath is—”
“Oh, her delicious breath!”
“Noisome, poisonous, corruption.”
“In fact, her whole lovely body is a region of—”
“Pestilent discolorations, and foul sores.”
“And,” roared out Captain Templar, “if you would but pass a single hour in her company—”
“You would assuredly repent of your temerity,” said the obstinate contagionist.