Chapter 13 No.13

"My son," said old Thrasyllus, sitting beside his couch, "do you intend always to cherish your illness and longing, like a serpent that devours you, bone and flesh? The sibyl of Rhacotis merely guessed your own thoughts. The holy Amphris could explain nothing more than that many, who resemble one another, mean only one in the dream. After that, wha