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Chapter IV. A Diary Of The Dying

           LordJohnissleepingalso,hislongbodydoubledupsidewaysinabasket-chair.Thefirstcoldlightofdawnisjuststealingintotheroom,andeverythingisgreyandmournful.

           Ilookoutatthesunrise—thatfatefulsunrisewhichwillshineuponanunpeopledworld.Thehumanraceisgone,extinguishedinaday,buttheplanetsswingroundandthetidesriseorfall,andthewindwhispers,andallnaturegoesherway,down,asitwouldseem,totheveryamoeba,withneverasignthathewhostyledhimselfthelordofcreationhadeverblessedorcursedtheuniversewithhispresence.DownintheyardliesAustinwithsprawlinglimbs,hisfaceglimmeringwhiteinthedawn,andthehosenozzlestillprojectingfromhisdeadhand.Thewholeofhumankindistypifiedinthatonehalf-ludicrousandhalf-patheticfigure,lyingsohelplessbesidethemachinewhichitusedtocontrol.

           HereendthenoteswhichImadeatthetime.Henceforwardeventsweretooswiftandtoopoignanttoallowmetowrite,buttheyaretooclearlyoutlinedinmymemorythatanydetailcouldescapeme.

           Somechokinessinmythroatmademelookattheoxygencylinders,andIwasstartledatwhatIsaw.Thesandsofourliveswererunningverylow.AtsomeperiodinthenightChallengerhadswitchedthetubefromthethirdtothefourthcylinder.Nowitwasclearthatthisalsowasnearlyexhausted.Thathorriblefeelingofconstrictionwasclosinginuponme.Iranacrossand,unscrewingthenozzle,Ichangedittoourlastsupply.

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