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In this passage from the book Night, by Elie Wiesel, the author is referring to a cup of coffee that he manages to bring to his father in the concentration camp while his father was sick with a fever.
"He was burning with fever. Like a wild beast, I cleared a way for myself to the coffee cauldron. And I managed to carry back a cupful. I had a sip. The rest was for him. I can’t forget the light of thankfulness in his eyes while he gulped it down–an animal gratitude. With those few gulps of hot water, I probably brought him more satisfaction than I had done during my whole childhood."
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