Raymond was propped up against three feather pillows, his face still pale but his dark eyes wide open and resting on the doorway.

“Arthur,” Raymond rasped, his voice rough as sandpaper but clear enough to understand across the room.

“Raymond,” Mr.

Pendelton said, setting his briefcase on the foot of the brass bed frame.

“You look a lot better than the medical report your nephew mailed to my office on Monday.”

“Christopher lies about everything,” Raymond said.

“Did you bring the revocation forms?”

Mr.