It was some time after this that they took up Karen Karstedt; and both Hans Castorp and Joachim felt peculiarly drawn to her. She had been up here for years and was an outpatient of the Hofrat, who had commended her to the cousins’ benevolence. She was entirely without private means and dependent upon unfeeling relatives⁠—once, in fact, they had taken her away, since she was sure to die in any case; and only at the Hofrat’s intercession did they send her back. She lived in a modest pension in the village; a nineteen-year-old, undersized little person, with sleek, oily hair, and eyes forever timidly trying to hide a brilliance that accorded only too well with the hectic flush on her cheek. Her voice had the characteristic huskiness, but was sympathetic. She coughed almost constantly; and all her finger-ends were plastered up, as they had running sores.