"It can't—be—helped."
"No, it can't be helped. The doctor has told me you cannot live through the night."
"The—sooner—the—better!"
"I do not want to bother you, but I cannot bear to have you die without talking to you again about your future; I must try once more to persuade you not to die without sending some kind word to the people who have wronged you."
The expression of the white face underwent a hideous transformation.
"If you do not feel like talking to me about a matter so sacred and personal, would you not like to have me send for some minister or priest?"
The head moved slowly back and forth in a firm negation.
"In every age, and among all men, it has seemed fitting that those who were about to die should make some preparation to meet their God. Have you no desire to do this?"
A fierce light shone upon the emaciated countenance and the thin lips slowly articulated these words: "I—myself—will—settle—with—God! He—will—have—to—account—to—me—for—all—he—has—made—me—suffer!"
The listener at the door leaned against the wall for support.