'It is too bitter! too bitter! I cannot drink it.'
'How can you tell that, when you have not even tasted it?'
'I can imagine it! I know it from the smell. I want first another lump of sugar . . . and then I will drink it! . . .'
The Fairy then, with all the patience of a good mamma, put another lump of sugar in his mouth, and then again presented the tumbler to him.
'I cannot drink it so!' said the puppet, making a thousand grimaces.
'Why?'
'Because that pillow that is down there on my feet bothers me.'
The Fairy removed the pillow.
'It is useless. Even so I cannot drink it. . . .'
'What is the matter now?'
'The door of the room, which is half open, bothers me.'
The Fairy went and closed the door.
'In short,' cried Pinocchio, bursting into tears, 'I will not drink that bitter water—no, no, no! . . .'
'My boy, you will repent it. . . .'
'I don't care. . . .'
'Your illness is serious. . . .'
'I don't care. . . .'
'The fever in a few hours will carry you into the other world. . . .'
