“‘Sigmund—Sigmund!’ I cried. ‘For God’s sake—’
“He looked up, and, I tell you, I never want to see such a face again! I can never forget it. The face of a soul in torture. He looked at me and held out his arms. His hands were gone—flaked off in large, gray, writhing drops to the sand at his feet!
“He tried to smile, but couldn’t.
“Another gray—Thing—dropped off. I was dizzy with sickness. It was unbelievable. And then he spoke. His voice was well-nigh unrecognizable. It croaked and broke:
“‘Done for, my friendt. I feel it eating to my heart. Be merciful and help me. Shoot—quick, through the foreheadt!’
“His words beat through the stupor clouding my brain, I started toward him—hands out-stretched. I could not speak.
“‘Um Gottes Willen, bleibt da! Stop! Stop!’
“The words brought me up to a stop.
“‘Sigmund! My friend! What—?’
“‘Do not come near me! Vould you also be so tormented? Vat dot Gray touches it consumes. Do not argue, I say, but shoot! Heilige Mütter! Vy do you not shoot?’