Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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“Yes, yes, you were grand, magnificent in those days,” said Nancy. She had raised her head now; her tears had dried on her cheeks.

“Yes, as you say, I was magnificent,” repeated the old man, “but don’t interrupt me; I still see the picture. Patients think a lot of me—I am spoken well of by my colleagues, I am consulted by local practitioners. People come from distant lands to see me and to get my opinion. My opinion is golden. I feel myself something like a god; I can dispense life, I can issue the dread fiat of death. Here is a patient who comes from China. All the long way from the flowery land the wretched man has come to consult me. I seem to see the long voyage and the despair at the man’s heart, and now I behold the hope which animates him. He has a tumour, horrible, unsightly, a ghastly thing, a protuberance from the very home of Satan himself, but I remove it by my knife and by my skill, and the man recovers. Look at him! He is blessing me, and he is offering me the half of all his worldly possessions. Oh! how he has suffered, but I have relieved him. I have lifted him from hell to paradise. Yes, I am a great doctor. How beautiful, how absorbingly interesting is this picture of the golden past!”