"Oh Eliot, what do you think of him?"
Eliot put her off. "I can't tell you yet."
"You think he's very bad?"
"Very."
"But you don't think there isn't any hope?"
"I can't tell yet. There may be. He wants you to go to him. Don't talk much to him. Don't let him talk. And don't, whatever you do, let him move an inch."
Adeline went upstairs. Anne and Eliot were alone. "You can tell," she said. "You don't think there's any hope."
"I don't. There's something quite horribly wrong. His temperature's a hundred and three."
"Is that bad?"
"Very."