The duchess chose a book of sermons.

'But we're all such dreadful sinners, it's better not to bother ourselves late at night.' She dismissed that suggestion.

Chloe proposed books of poetry.
'Only I don't understand them except about larks, and buttercups, and hayfields, and that's no comfort to a woman burning,' was the answer.
'Are you feverish, madam ?' said Chloe.

And the duchess was sharp on her: 'Yes, madam, I am.' She reproved herself in a change of tone: 'No, Chloe, not feverish, only this air of yours here is such an exciting air, as the doctor says; and they made me drink wine, and I played before supper--Oh! my money; I used to say I could get more, but now!' she sighed--'but there's better in the world than money.

You know that, don't you, you dear?
Tell me.
And I want you to be happy; that you'll find.