:oops: "Diseases desperate grown But desperate appliance are reliev'd Or not at all." An excerpt (modified): The knuckles of my hand are stiff. I must drop the pencil occasionallyand rub them warm. Allthe bones of my body ache dully and it occurs to me that even the dread of death is a subjectively relative thing, welcomed as often as not by the poor and ailing while the rich and pleasured tremble at its mention. The thought brings a smile to mu dry lips. But the simle fades a