When he sat beside him, part of Arthur wanted little more than to pull him into an embrace and perhaps just say screw it all and leave with him. He knew where they could go, a little place by a lake west of here...

But John. Abigail, and Jack...they needed him. They needed him to be there for them. John had a chance for a life. And he'd use his every last breath to ensure he got it if it came to it.

So he sat where he sat, drinking his coffee and listening to the strange soap and medicine seller.

Good to hear he was doing alright for himself, but at the mention of him, he grunted and nodded, "Yea, ain't doing well. Got tuberculosis. And ain't got a lot of time left"