After keeping quietly to his bed for a few days, the bishop called young Bernard to him one morning and said:
«Βernard, will you ride into Santa Fé to-day and see the Archbishop for me. Ask him whether it will be quite convenient if I return to occupy my study in his house for a short time. Je voudrais mourir à Santa Fé.»
«I will go at once, Father. But you should not be discouraged; one does not die of a cold.»
The old man smiled. «Ι shall not die of a cold, my son. I shall die of having lived.»
from: Death comes for the Archbishop, by Willa Cather, 1927, p. 269
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