" A dark flask dangled from the bedpost like a ripe fruit.   Someone he could not see was seated beside his bed. He turned his head and craned his neck to no avail. At last he extended a hand toward the visitor; and the visitor took it between his own, which were large and hard and warm. As soon as their hands touched, he knew. You said you weren’t going to help, he told the visitor. You said I wasn’t to expect help from you, yet here you are. The visitor did not reply, but his hands were clean and gentle and full of healing. "

― Gene Wolfe , Caldé of the Long Sun (The Book of the Long Sun #3)