He didn’t speak for a few moments, long enough for Raven to become concerned that the subject of their discussion was going to be his comforting Sarah when she had learned of Mrs Glassford’s death. His exchange with Quinton had unsettled him. Was it possible that Quinton had spoken to Archie about his disquiet at finding them together in an embrace? Or had his words merely been intended as a warning?

Obviously, Archie did not represent any kind of physical threat – pistols at dawn were unlikely – but Raven was appalled to think of Archie being wounded by a twisted account of his wife taking solace in another man’s arms.

‘I don’t know how to begin,’ Archie said finally.

Raven swallowed. ‘Take your time,’ he said, though his discomfort was becoming acute.

‘There’s the rub. Time is not something I can afford. I think that the end is approaching rather faster than I had anticipated.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘My disease is advancing. I am getting weaker.’ He spoke firmly and with conviction, dispassionately stating the facts of the matter. He did not seem to be inviting contradiction, was not seeking the false reassurance that a contrary opinion would bring.

‘I know that everyone feigns optimism for my sake. I know that no one wants to admit that all hope is exhausted, but it is quite evident that all that can be done for me has been done.’

He paused for a moment, allowing Raven to absorb what had been said.

‘I have endured three painful operations which have brought me some relief, but the symptoms always return. There is a firmness at the back of my tongue that extends into my throat, and the nodes in my neck are hard and immobile. There can be little doubt about what that means. I know I am not long for this world, and I have accepted it, but I have one lingering concern. I have no wish to become a burden to Sarah.’

Archie looked directly at Raven in a way that made him feel distinctly ill at ease. There was another pause.

‘We are both medical men,’ Archie continued. ‘We know how it is likely to go for me now. Speaking and eating will become increasingly difficult. The pain will worsen. Death will come slowly. I will succumb as a result of starvation, suffocation, or the tumour will erode into an artery and I will bleed to death. Unquenchable haemorrhage. You know how that will be. What that will look like.’

Raven could well imagine. As an obstetrician he was no stranger to sudden and dramatic blood loss but the prospect of exsanguination from the mouth, blood filling the throat, perhaps drowning in the stuff, added a uniquely horrific dimension.

‘I would not have Sarah witness such a thing.’

‘No. Of course not,’ Raven said.