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When disease amounts to long-continued insanity all of these effects are greatly exaggerated, and make a deep impression upon all who witness the phenomena. Thus the hallucinations of fever-racked brains, and mad minds, are attributed to spirits.
The men lay motionless; only by their deep, rhythmical breathing could one know that they were alive. Dead to the world, they were as insensible to the cutting wind which, with the force of a half-gale, swept over the icy plains, sending the last flickering embers of their fire up in a cloud of flying sparks, as they were to the pain in their fever-racked bodies.
She sung quadriales, to be sure, Beranger's songs and odes of the camp; for she knew of no hymn but the "Marseillaise," and her chants were all chants like the "Laus Veneris." But the voice that gave them was pure as the voice of a thrush in the spring, and the cadence of its music was so silvery sweet that it soothed like a spell all the fever-racked brains, all the pain-tortured spirits.
When the news of his father's death was brought to Cesare, the duke, all fever-racked as he was, more dead than living, considered his position and issued his orders to Michele da Corella, that most faithful of all his captains, who so richly shared with Cesare the execration of the latter's enemies.
Before it, while the old weakness possessed him, Jock Filmer, sitting daily by his bed, was merely some one who was helping nurse the fever-racked body; afterward, Jock materialized into the most important and satisfying personality to be imagined. He was untiring in his devotion and gentleness.
But it did not; on the contrary, the raft proved to be surprisingly buoyant, riding over the great, glassy, round-backed hills of swell as dry as a bone, with a gentle, swaying movement that somehow seemed to soothe my fever-racked frame, so that the condition of semi-delirium that had possessed me just before the felucca foundered passed away and left me sufficiently self-possessed to recognise the necessity for eating and drinking, if I was to survive and get the better of my misfortunes.
"Where to?" asked Binhart. Little had passed between the two men, but during all those silent nights and days each had been secretly yet assiduously studying the other. "Back to New York," was Blake's indifferent-noted answer. Yet this indifference was a pretense, for no soul had ever hungered more for a white man's country than did the travel-worn and fever-racked Blake.
We spent our time crawling after sheep, and a camp-horse would be about as much use to us as side-pockets to a pig. We had expected Sandy to rush the fellow off the place at once, and we couldn't understand how it was that he took so much interest in him. Perhaps the fever-racked drover and the old camp-horse appealed to him in a way incomprehensible to us.
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