Rothfuss would not rest until I got up again.
I went up the steps with him and into the room. He drew off my boots, and was full of kind attentions.
Addressing me in a whisper, he offered to tell the news to his mistress in the morning, as he thought that he was best fitted for the task.
He meant to speak of it in such a way that she would take it as his stupid talk and give him a thorough scolding, and thus wreak her anger on him. He thought that would be the best way, because that would help to break the first shock of the news, and then it would be easier to endure the rest.
The only other thing that troubled Rothfuss was how he might stop Funk's evil tongue. He felt sure that with the exception of Funk, others would be as much grieved as we were.
That was the trouble. The news would enlist the attention of the busy world, those who pitied as well as those who rejoiced in the sufferings of others.
But what matters the world: it can neither help nor hinder our griefs.
I have experienced much bitter suffering:--I have gazed into the grave that had received all that had been dearest to me on earth, but no pain can be compared to that of grief for a son, who, though living, is lost.
Morning had already dawned. The birds were singing in the trees; the sun had returned; all life seemed to awake anew; and at last I found an hour's sleep.
"Destroyer of sleep!" were the first words I uttered when I awoke.