esperation.

But this day was a glorious one; in high spirits the Englishman left the
house on the Oberkreuzbrunnenstrasse and moved slowly toward the
springs. He was not thirty, but looked much older, for his weight was
excessive. An easy-going temperament, a good appetite, a well-filled
purse, and a conscience that never disturbed his night's slumber
contributed to this making of flesh. He waddled, despite his great
height, and was sufficiently sensitive to enjoy Marienbad as much for
its fat visitors as for its curative virtues. Here at least he was not
remarkable, while in London or Paris people looked at him sourly when he
occupied a stall at the theatre or a seat in a cafe. Not only had he
elbow room in Marienbad, but he felt small, positively meagre, in
comparison with the prize specimens he saw painfully progressing about
the shaded walks or puffing like obese engines up the sloping roads to
the Ruebezahl, the Egerlaender, the Panorama, or the distant Podhorn.

The park of the Kreuzbrunnen was crowded, though the hour of six had
just been signalled from a dozen clocks in the vicinity. The crowd,
gathered from the four quarters of the globe, was in holiday humour, as,
glass in hand, it fell into line, until each received the water doled
out by uniformed officials. Occasionally a dispute as to precedence
would take place when the serpentine procession filed up the steps of
the old-fashioned belvedere; but quarrels were as rare as a lean man. A
fat crowd is always good-tempered, irritable as may be its individual
members. Hugh Krayne kept in position, while two women shoved him about
as if he were a bale of hay. He heard them abusing him in Bohemian, a
language of which he did not know more than a few words; their
intonations told him that they heartily disliked his presence. Yet he
could not give way; it would not have been Marienbad etiquette. At last
he reached the spring and received his usual low bow from the man who
turned the polished wheel--the fellow had an eye tuned for gratuities.
With the water in his glass three-fourths cold and one-fourth warm, a
small napkin in his left hand, the Englishman moved with the jaunty
grace of a young elephant down the smooth terraced esplanade that has
made Marienbad so celebrated. The sun was riding high, and the tender
green of the trees, the flashing of the fountains, and the music of the
band all caused Hugh to feel happy. He had lost nearly a pound since his
arrival