It was an expensive hotel. There were white towels on an ottoman at the foot of the bed, and the room filled with the light of a sun I had not thought to see again. I was no longer mad, as well, and that escape also was implausible and delightful. I saw clearly and cleanly. I drank the whole jug of water from beside the bed—fortunately it was a small one, and I did not vomit it all straight up again. There was a loaf of bread on the little coffee table, some fruit and cheese. I ate like a bird, tiny bites, and then sat, and a moment later ate again, so that for the whole morning I did nothing but contemplate the flavour of Ossau-Iraty and apples and unsalted Italian dough. Then I bathed in cool water and put on the clothes—my clothes—that were laid out in the next room. I had no idea how I would pay for it all, until I found—to my amazement—the bracelet of gold coins that lay by the cuff of the shirt, thick South African coin, and however much I did not love that nation in those days, I was not fool enough to turn up my nose.