"Why, you skulking little devil, you," they would say, "get up and do something for your living, can't you?" - not knowing, of course, that I was ill.
« Quand vas-tu te secouer, satané petit fainéant ? Aurais-tu l’intention de rester un bon a rien toute ta vie ? » me disait-on, sans savoir, bien entendu, que j’étais malade.