About noon
The word `` deprived '' seemed to him cold and unsatisfactory , but `` bereaved '' was too final , and no other word of two syllables short-long came to him , which would enable him to keep `` whose lover 's heart is weeping . '' It was past two by the time he had finished it , and past three before he went to sleep , having said it over to himself at least twenty-four times . Next day he wrote it out and enclosed it in one of those letters to Fleur which he always finished before he went down , so as to have his mind free and companionable . About noon that same day , on the tiled terrace of their hotel , he felt a sudden dull pain in the back of his head , a queer sensation in the eyes , and sickness . The sun had touched him too affectionately . The next three days were passed in semi-darkness , and a dulled , aching indifference to all except the feel of ice on his forehead and his mother 's smile . She never moved from his room , never relaxed her noiseless vigilance , which seemed to Jon angelic .