[Luis starts his morning as usual with a cup of coffee and some toast. He goes to the attic with a book in one hand and a damp cloth in the other.

He wipes her face clean with the patience of a nurse at a sickbed, and tries not to think of the difference between her cold, corpselike brow and the burning fever that had wracked his grandfather in his final days. As he sits with her afterward, he speaks quietly aloud.]

"Look, your worship," said Sancho; "what we see there are not giants but windmills, and what seem to be their arms are the sails that turned by the wind make the millstone go."

[The book that he's holding is not Don Quixote.

Eventually, there's a change of the guard, and he goes to the pool for a while, taking a soak in the jacuzzi.]