CHAPTER 



^ Both the walls and the ceiling of my little hotel 

 room were painted an even shade of green which had 

 been inspired, I am certain, by the painter's abiding 

 love for dill pickles. The only other place where I have 

 ever seen a green like that is inside a pickle jar, and as 

 a backdrop for a bed of pain, dill-pickle green in spec- 

 tacularly unsuitable. But there was one thing to be said 

 for that pale, ugly color. If nothing else, it matched my 

 mood. 



It is never easy for an active person to adjust to rest- 

 ing in bed, and for me it was particularly difficult. Not 

 only was I fresh from the most exciting fishing day I'd 

 ever known, but I was also disturbed by the knowledge 



52 



