This section made me laugh twice.
Margaret gets sick from wandering the moor in the freezing rain, so the doctor is called.
Once she comes around he's back for a check up, and asks her what she reads.
Wuthering Heights? Jane Eyre? Sense and Sensibility? Read them more than once since childhood?
She's confused and wondering why he's asking about her reading habits. Has decided he's laughing at her, and he pronounces that she is
"...suffering from an ailment that afflicts ladies of romantic imagination. Symptoms include fainting, weariness, loss of appetite, low spirits. While on one level the crisis can be ascribed to wandering about in the freezing rain without benefit of adequate waterproofing, the deeper cause is more likely to be found in some emotional trauma. However, unlike the heroines of your favorite novels, your constitution has not been weakened by the privations of life in earlier, harsher centuries. No tuberculosis, no childhood polio, no unhygienic living conditions. You'll survive."
He then asks about her appetite, and tells her it will come back if she feeds it. He writes her a prescription and tells her the weakness and fatigue will be gone in a few days.
The prescription reads:
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes. Take ten pages, twice a day, till end of course.
That make me snort and laugh out loud.