He sang as long as there was whisky in the bottle, then he dropped on his side upon the bench, or let his head sink on the table, and slept in this way until the whistle began to blow.

The dog lay at his side.
When he died, he died hard.

For five days, turned all black, he rolled in his bed, gnashing his teeth, his eyes tightly closed.

Sometimes he would say to his wife: "Give me arsenic.

Poison me." She called a physician.