Act 3, Chapter 22, something!

If this were the 19th century....

- I'd have consumption or some such thing, and get sent to the seashore
- I'd have faded gracefully, or be kept in a parlor somewhere, or have had poetry written about my graceful-pale-pretty-dying visage
- There'd be an opera, in which the dire cough would've started in Act 2. The aria would've started at the beginning of Act 3. Gorgeous and surprisingly powerful for someone with a death rattle in her chest.

Oh, old times, old times.