The doctor closed his bag with a snap. After a pause, he said, "May I ask if you have any family, Maestro?"

"Only cousins that I don't speak with." Bozzetto had grown fed up with the pestering of relatives, or so-called relatives, as his fame increased. It had soon become known that family were not welcome around him.

The doctor nodded. "So I've heard. I would say that's unfortunate, as having family around at the end of your life is a great comfort. But you have money. You have servants. You have enough wealth and fame that, I imagine, nothing is beyond your acquisition. I can't say I fully understand that, being just an old country doctor, but I wouldn't be surprised if that is enough." He looked at Bozzetto over his half-moon spectacles. "But all the same, I am sorry."

Bozzetto chose to ignore the sentiment. "So what is your prognosis, Doctor."

"Nothing that your own, more qualified doctor hasn't probably already told you. The fact that you are still alive is something to take pride in—if you are a gambler that thinks luck is something you make." The doctor shook his head. "I am not a gambler, and I doubt that you are either. If this was a game, I'd say cash in your chips. But if this is, it's a game that we all play 'till we lose. Be happy you are still playing."

"Such rampant metaphor," said Bozzetto dryly.

The old doctor gave him a crooked smile. "Yes, well... Things happen a little slower around these parts, including getting to the point. And, you see, there are certain things no doctor ever likes to say. Even if it's clear that it has already been said before, and understood."