"Thank goodness you're here," Anstruther's tone of distress wrung at my heart.
"He's worse?" I asked, impatient to see for myself, but knowing it was better to consult with my young colleague in the hall.
"Feverish – when he heard that you'd been arrested he tried to get out of the bed and he may have aggravated whatever damage was done to his spleen. And his lungs sound worse, but he refuses to try to cough for me." Anstruther ran a hand through already disordered hair. "He wants morphine. Says if he's going to die he'd rather do it in comfort."
