It was dull and glassy under the high sun; here and there, far out, the sluggish currents made dark, irregular streaks.
Corbario produced cigarettes and offered one to Marcello, but the boy would not smoke; he said that it made him cough.
"I should smoke all the time, if I were quite well," he said, with a smile.
"And do many other things that young men do, I daresay," laughed Corbario.

"Ride steeplechases, play cards all night, and drink champagne at breakfast." "Perhaps." Marcello was amused at the picture.

"I wonder whether I ever shall," he added.
Corbario glanced at him curiously.

There was the faintest accent of longing in the tone, which was quite new.
"Why not ?" Folco asked, still smiling.

"It is merely a question of health, my dear boy.