No cure has ever been found. And I know that he walks the Canyon of the Dead and considers the bones, sometimes stops by the rock where he met her, blinks after the moist things that are not there, wonders at the judgment that he gave.
It is that way, and the moral may be that life (and perhaps love also)
is stronger than that which it contains, but never that which contains it.
But only a Faioli could tell you for sure, and they never come here any
more.