Eugenia shook him into consciousness.
"Raining for three whole days, and I believe you've slept through it. Now the clouds are breaking."
"What is it the Bible says about 'the winter of our discontent'?—that's what it is."
"Not the Bible, dear—Shakespeare."
"It's the same thing," retorted the general testily. His speech came thickly as if he held a pebble in his mouth, and the swollen veins in his face were livid.
Eugenia bent over him in sudden uneasiness. "Aren't you well, papa?" she asked. "Is anything the matter?"
The general laughed and pinched her cheek.
"Never better in my life," he declared, "but I'll have to be getting new glasses. These things aren't worth a cent. Find them, Eugie."
Eugenia picked them up, wiped them on his silk handkerchief, and put them on his nose.
"You've slept too long," she said. "Come and take a walk in the hall."