Rome Fever

I’ve had an attack of a virulent fever, and have been alternately very hot and shaky followed by excruciatingly cold for two days – but I am coming out of it now. A small doctor was summoned by a helpful staff member of the Aberdeen. This bearded medic wore dark round glasses and walked with a limp, he must have been only 5 feet tall and had a rather over ingratiating bedside manner. He carried an old battered black case with all his medicines and stethoscope and stuff. I must say that he did give me a very thorough examination once he had assured himself of my medical insurance (I think I can feel a claim coming on). He came to my room at half past two yesterday afternoon after I had managed to make it downstairs to call for help an hour earlier. Getting back up was a pain with a large American Women I the lift complaining about the smells. After the examination and his prescription he sat looking tired on my small bedside chair and asked me if I was married. I told him I was not and that I probably would not be here if I was and he then told me (in English with a thick Italian accent) that he was going through a messy divorce. His wife had been having an affair with a local shopkeeper and although he did not really mind that much about that, he could handle the deceit and disrespect. He had caught them at it a few weeks ago in his workshop (he makes models of cathedrals) and as he considered this his haven from the bustle of normal life he was particularly hurt. He had not put a single extra gargoyle on Notre Dame since. In my feverish state this story affected me and my dreams – after he had gone I entered an anguished sleep with fornicating gargoyles, hunchbacks and bells, screams and cries. I have now got over it and am ready for action once I have paid my bills.