Each breath hums in her throat, and beyond that slight stirring of larynx and lips her little frail body moves no more than a doll's.

She has not got her cap on and her gray hair is unraveled on her head like flocks of dust.
Several voices at once explain to me that it is "double congestion, and her heart as well." She was attacked by a dizziness, by prolonged and terrible shivering.

She wandered, mentioned me, then suddenly collapsed.

The doctor has no hope but is coming back.

The Reverend Father Piot was here at five.
Silence hovers.