Marcus noticed
that Mr. Minford's hand was hot. He also observed that his eyes were
preternaturally lustrous, and that the circles under them were deep and
dark. His cheeks were deathly pale, saving a little red spot in the
centres. He looked like a man in a state of fearful mental exaltation
and nervous excitement.
Marcus was not in the habit of worrying people upon the subject of their
ill health; but the inventor looked so palpably bad, that Marcus could
not forbear to say, in a tone of anxiety, "You are unwell, sir."
"Oh, no! Quite well, I assure you," said the inventor, with a weary
smile. "Though I should be sick, perhaps, but for the glorious hope that
bears me up. I have not eaten, or slept, for forty-eight hours."
"But, my dear sir, this is trifling with your health."
"I acknowledge it. But we must make sacrifices, if we would master the
UNKNOWN. Newton lived on bread and water when he wrote his immortal
Principia. He condemned himself to the coarse fare of a prison, in order
that his intellect might soar untrammelled to the stars. I have improved
on Newton--I eat nothing.
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