Why can't I dream about something I want to happen? Why can't I dream about Richard? … Poor Richard, how can he go on believing I shall come to him?
VII.
Dear Dr. Charles, with his head sticking out between the tubes of the stethoscope, like a ram. His poor old mouth hung loose as he breathed. He was out late last night; there was white stubble on his chin.
"It won't do it when you want it to."
"It's doing quite enough…. Let me see, it's two years since your mother had that illness. You must go away, Mary. For a month at least. Dorsy'll come and take care of your mother."
"Does it matter where I go?"
"N-no. Not so much. Go where you'll get a thorough change, my dear. I wouldn't stay with relations, if I were you."
"All right, I'll go if you'll tell me what's the matter with me."
"You've got your brother Rodney's heart. But it won't kill you if you'll take care of yourself."
(Roddy's heart, the net of flesh and blood drawing in a bit of your body.)