I returned to Scotland with some dreams, some parchments, a wife, son, and pulmonary tuberculosis. The Southfield Colony for Consumptives on the outskirts of Edinburgh became my hospital. This had once been a sweating months must have been the living room. It had seven windows in front of which were as many beds. These windows were always open even when this produced snow for pillows on the beds. Fresh air, no matter how cold or wet, was basic to the cure. The windows were filthy. Dirty words of earlier times had been overlaid with layers of newer blasphemies.