The struggle was over.
"For your sake, Damaris!" he said aloud, and he spoke without cynicism.
"I should know how to wait by now--even for death--which is all I have to wait for." And with that he pulled the fluttering paper from the wall, crushed it in his hand, and went out heavily into the night.
FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: This story was originally issued in the _Red Magazine_.] The Eleventh Hour[2].