He was lying in a feather bed, with real blankets, and with an actual pillow under his head. In his own shack he used only tattered tarpaulins and fishing nets for bedding and a bundle of sweaters that refused to adhere to his body any longer on which to rest his head. Mrs. Wilkins was gently dabbing his forehead with a moist facecloth. As his eyes began to focus, he saw that he was in a place which he had before seen only through the window: Leonore’s bedroom. Leonore herself was nowhere to be seen. Walt felt weaker then at any previous moment in his life. Mrs. Wilkins explained to him that he had been unconscious for three days. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but found his tongue welded to his palate with dried mucous. As he had expected, the music continued to play in his head. Mrs. Wilkins dipped the cloth into a basin of water and squeezed a few drops onto Walt’s tongue. The relief was immense. When he was able to speak he told her that he was very thirsty, and hungry too.
