Note 7 — Chapter V · FROM VAN TO BITLIS

But on that tray my eyes discerned with ill-concealed fright a spectre invisible to my fellow-guests. The shade of Hunger floated over the messes of meat and unpalatable vegetables, swimming in oil or ghee.7 I could not eat the gritty pancake bread, or the salt cheese inlaid with pieces of green straw. Nor was I able with success to emulate the politeness of Julius Cæsar; a sickness came over me when I tried. The old priest was at liberty to dip his fingers into my dishes and pick the choicest bits. I could scarcely swallow a few morsels; but my host was much too stupid to see through the excuses which I made.