Harold Lamb,
The Snow Driver — I.—The Man-at-Arms
(1925)
“ Edward was coughing, flecks of blood showing on his pallid lips. His eyes closed and he lay voiceless a moment on the couch. When he spoke it was in so low a whisper that nobleman and armiger both bent lower to catch the words—Thorne expecting that the king might have some command for him. “Nay, Dudley. Of what avail to guard the body when life—itself is leaving me?” With an effort he opened his eyes and made shift to smile. “My lungs are in consumption, the priests say. Good youth, we trust we have not wearied you. Edward will never again rise from his bed.” ”
