The Boss recognized this; we all recognized it.

If we could go to one of those new camps and patch up some kind of terms with the enemy--yes, but The Boss could not go, and neither could I, for I was among the first that were made sick by the poisonous air bred by those dead thousands.
Others were taken down, and still others.

To-morrow-- _To-morrow._ It is here.

And with it the end.

About midnight I awoke, and saw that hag making curious passes in the air about The Boss's head and face, and wondered what it meant.