His
body was obese. His mind was in a state of advanced putrefaction. Even
his personal cleanliness left something to be desired. Sitting there,
puffy and pasty, in a darkened room, he looked more than ever like some
obscene vegetable that has grown up in the shade.
He moved seldom and with difficulty; he hardly ever opened his mouth
save to eat--for his appetite, thanks to certain daily exertions on the
part of the communal doctor, was still fairly satisfactory. When he
spoke at all it was in scattered monosyllables which even the most
devoted of his disciples were unable to arrange into such coherence as
to justify their inclusion in the GOLDEN BOOK. All this, though hidden
from the world at large, had been observed with dismay by the
initiated. It was an open secret among them that the last twenty-one
sayings ascribed to him in that volume had never issued from his lips
at all. They had been concocted by a clique of young extremists, who
were now masters of the situation. These fanatics edited the GOLDEN
BOOK and held the old man completely in subjection, ousting his former
and more moderate collaborators.
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