Two days passed, and Sheldon felt that he could not grow any weaker and live, much less make his four daily rounds of the hospital.

The deaths were averaging four a day, and there were more new cases than recoveries.
The blacks were in a funk.

Each one, when taken sick, seemed to make every effort to die.

Once down on their backs they lacked the grit to make a struggle.

They believed they were going to die, and they did their best to vindicate that belief.