Before he spoke he looked at her contemplatively as to the effect of his coming words.
"He is dying," he said, with dry precision.
"What ?" said she.
"Nothing can be done, by me or any other man.

It will soon be all over.

The extremities are dead already." His eyes still remained fixed on her; the conclusion to which he had come seeming to end his interest, professional and otherwise, in Winterborne forever.
"But it cannot be! He was well three days ago." "Not well, I suspect.

This seems like a secondary attack, which has followed some previous illness--possibly typhoid--it may have been months ago, or recently." "Ah--he was not well--you are right.

He was ill--he was ill when I came." There was nothing more to do or say.