eg you to pardon the form which my intention took.

"Secondly, I wish very much that I might see you. I fear that you would
not receive me, and from the ordinary point of view of society you would
be acting quite rightly, since you are really living alone. The world,
however, is quite sure that you have a companion, an elderly gentlewoman
who is a distant relation of yours. It will never be persuaded that this
good lady does not exist, because it cannot possibly believe that you
would have the audacity to live alone in your own house.

"I wish to see you, because my friend Gianluca cannot live much longer.
You may remember that he walked with difficulty, and even used a stick,
before you left Naples. He can now hardly walk at all. According to the
doctors, he has a mortal disease of the spine and cannot live more than
two or three months. Perhaps I am telling you this very roughly, but it
cannot pain you as much as it does me, and you ought to know it. He is
not the man to let any one tell you of his state, and I have taken it
upon myself to write to you without asking his opinion. I told you once
what you were to him. All that I told you is ten times more true, now.
Between you and life, he would not choose, if he could; but he is losing
both. As a Christian woman, in commonest kindness, if you can see him
before he dies, do so. And you can, if you will. He was to have been
moved to the place near Avellino a few days ago, but he was too ill.
They all leave next week, unless he should be worse. You are strong and
well, and it would not be much for you to make that short journey,
considering Gianluca's condition.

"I shall not tell him that I have written to you, and I leave to you to
let him know of my writing, or not, as you think fit."

Here followed the little final phrase and the signature. Veronica let
the sheet fall upon her table, and gazed long and steadily at the
tapestry on the wall opposite her. Her hands clasped each other suddenly
and then fell apart loosely and lay idle before her. Her head sank
forward a little, but her eyes still held the point on which they were
looking.

In the first shock of knowing that Gianluca was to die, she felt as
though she had lost a part of him already, and something she dearly
valued seemed to go out of her life. Her instinct was not to go to him
and see him while she could, but to look forward to the blankness that
would be before her when he should be gone. Something o