His disease brought with it a certain irritation of the skin, annoying rather than painful.

Meeting Ross one morning after a day's separation he apologised for scratching himself: "Really," he exclaimed, "I'm more like a great ape than ever; but I hope you'll give me a lunch, Bobbie, and not a nut." On one of the last drives with this friend he asked for champagne and when it was brought declared that he was dying as he had lived, "beyond his means"-- his happy humour lighting up even his last hours.
Early in November Ross left Paris to go down to the Riviera with his mother: for Reggie Turner had undertaken to stay with Oscar.

Reggie Turner describes how he grew gradually feebler and feebler, though to the end flashes of the old humour would astonish his attendants.

He persisted in saying that Reggie, with his perpetual prohibitions, was qualifying for a doctor.

"When you can refuse bread to the hungry, Reggie," he would say, "and drink to the thirsty, you can apply for your diploma." Towards the end of November Reggie wired for Ross and Ross left everything and reached Paris next day.
When all was over he wrote to a friend giving him a very complete account of the last hours of Oscar Wilde; that account he generously allows me to reproduce and it will be found word for word in the Appendix; it is too long and too detailed to be used here.
Ross's letter should be read by the student; but several touches in it are too timid; certain experiences that should be put in high relief are slurred over: in conversation with me he told more and told it better.
For example, when talking of his drives with Oscar, he mentions casually that Oscar "insisted on drinking absinthe," and leaves it at that.