Correspondent [writes in his note-book, tossing out detached remarks]. Mortal terror, numbs his limbs.—A cold shiver goes down his spinal column.—No hope.—Before his mental vision rises a picture of family bliss: Wife making sandwiches; his five children innocently lisping their love.—Grandma in the armchair with a tube to her ear, that is, grandpa in the arm-chair, with a tube to his ear and grandma.—Deeply moved by the sympathy of the public.—His last wish before his death that the words he uttered with his last breath should be published in our newspapers—
Military Woman [indignantly]. My! He lies like a salesman.
Mary [wearily]. Papa, children, look, he is starting to fall again.
Tourist [angrily]. Don't bother me. Such a tragedy is unfolding itself right before your very eyes—and you—What are you making such big eyes for again?
Correspondent [shouting]. Hold on fast. That's it! My last question: What message do you wish to leave for your fellow citizens before you depart for the better world?
Unknown Man. That they may all go to the devil.
Correspondent. What? Hm, yes—[He writes quickly.] Ardent love—is a stanch opponent of the law granting equal rights to negroes. His last words: "Let the black niggers—"
Pastor [out of breath, pushing through the crowd]. Where is he? Ah, where is he? Ah, there! Poor young man. Has there been no clergyman here yet? No? Thank you. Am I the first?
Correspondent [writes]. A touching dramatic moment.—A minister has arrived.—All are trembling on the verge of suspense. Many are shedding tears—
Pastor. Excuse me, excuse me! Ladies and gentlemen, a lost soul wishes to make its peace with God—[He shouts.] My son, don't you wish to make your peace with God? Confess your sins to me. I will grant you remission at once! What? I cannot hear?