I used even to be complimented upon it.

But this temporary fiction could not endure above a year or two.

I ceased to grow, but, alas! I did not cease my demands for alimentary sustenance.
Those times are long since past, and with them have ceased to exist the fond concealment--the indulgent blindness--the delicate overlooking--the compassionate fiction.

I and my infirmity are left exposed and bare to the broad, unwinking eye of the world, which nothing can elude.

My meals are scanned, my mouthfuls weighed in a balance; that which appetite demands is set down to the account of gluttony--a sin which my whole soul abhors--nay, which Nature herself has put it out of my power to commit.