-I’m telling you, don’t get up, you’re sick. - Moran said. “I’m quite capable of wor...” Louis' remark was interrupted by a sharp cough.

He leaned back on the bed, exhausted. The glasses were lying on the cabinet nearby. Now there was no particular need for them; his eyes still hurt from the light.

-Here you see. Can not. Get treatment. - Moran said, trying to sound stern. To be honest, it didn't work out very well. There was frank concern in his voice. -Moran... - Another coughing attack. - I'm cold. My head hurts.... Moran placed a heavy hand on Louis' forehead, checking him for fever. It was present. “Now I’ll bring another blanket and tea with lemon.”

Moran quickly left the room, and soon returned with the promised treatment tools. Now Louis was half-sitting, half-lying, wrapped in several layers of fabric and drinking a little deadly tea from Moran. How does he manage to brew it like that... Well, at least it’s not hot enough to burn an already sore throat.