News at Eleven: [John Keats] lay there on the floor

of the second story in the heat, with the rust taste of blood in his mouth, for most of the rest of the day, late afternoon and the closeness of the humidity and the weight of the ceiling pressing down on him. That is when he decided to try to make his way around the corner to the Hunts, with whom he had an open invitation and with whom, soon enough, once it was determined he could not be alone, he would move in.

from The New York Times: First Chapter: 'Posthumous Keats'
also On the Seawall: on Posthumous Keats, a "personal biography" by Stanley Plumly (Norton)

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