Sickness and crime had broken out on every side, and had changed happy cities into places of utter misery. […] Every hour and every minute he expected to see dark Death coming again to carry him away. […] The people put on dark robes of mourning, and every sign of gladness vanished. […] The way parted in many directions at every few steps, and it grew worse and worse as he went on. […] But every day he went down to the shore and sat looking out across the sea and thinking of Ithaca.