``Don't tell me! I wish not to hear. It makes me
--like madness here.'' He struck his low sloping brow
with his palm. ``What vanity! That the feet may
look well to the passing stranger, no overshoes!
Rheumatism, sore throat, colds, pneumonia. Is it not
disgusting. If you were a man I should swear in all the
languages I know--which are five, including Hungarian,
and when one swears in Hungarian it is `going
some,' as you say in America. Yes, it is going quite
some.''
``I shall wear overshoes,'' said Mildred.
``And indigestion--you have that?''
``A little, I guess.''
``Much--much, I tell you!'' cried Moldini, shaking
the long finger at her. ``You Americans! You eat
too fast and you eat too much. That is why you are
always sick, and consulting the doctors who give the
medicines that make worse, not better. Yes, you
Americans are like children. You know nothing. Sing?
Americans cannot sing until they learn that a stomach
isn't a waste-basket, to toss everything into. You have
been to that throat specialist, Hicks?''
``Ah, yes,'' said Mildred brightening.
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