[frowns. this is why he didn't want to say anything.]

I would prefer to be wrong, believe me. But I cannot deny the truth of my senses. The only thing I can think of is that his sickness is ... rotting him, somehow.

[more gently.] I know you don't wish to hear this. I am loathe to tell it to you. But I can say that it is early yet. Perhaps something can be done.