"He's at the hotel; he was too tired to come out and has gone to
bed."
"I'll go to see him," she immediately said.
"That's exactly what I hoped you'd do. I had an idea you hadn't seen
much of him since your marriage, that in fact your relations were
a-a little more formal. That's why I hesitated-like an awkward
Briton."
"I'm as fond of Ralph as ever," Isabel answered. "But why has he
come to Rome?" The declaration was very gentle, the question a
little sharp.
"Because he's very far gone, Mrs. Osmond."
"Rome then is no place for him. I heard from him that he had
determined to give up his custom of wintering abroad and to remain
in England, indoors, in what he called an artificial climate."
"Poor fellow, he doesn't succeed with the artificial! I went to
see him three weeks ago, at Gardencourt, and found him thoroughly ill.
He has been getting worse every year, and now he has no strength left.
He smokes no more cigarettes! He had got up an artificial climate
indeed; the house was as hot as Calcutta. Nevertheless he had suddenly
taken it into his head to start for Sicily. I didn't believe in
it-neither did the doctors, nor any of his friends.
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