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Chapter IV. A Diary Of The Dying
Heismakingnotesandconsultingbooksatthecentraltable,ascalmlyasifyearsofplacidworklaybeforehim.Hewriteswithaverynoisyquillpenwhichseemstobescreechingscornatallwhodisagreewithhim.
Summerleehasdroppedoffinhischairandgivesfromtimetotimeapeculiarlyexasperatingsnore.LordJohnliesbackwithhishandsinhispocketsandhiseyesclosed.HowpeoplecansleepundersuchconditionsismorethanIcanimagine.
Three-thirtya.m.Ihavejustwakenedwithastart.ItwasfiveminutespastelevenwhenImademylastentry.Irememberwindingupmywatchandnotingthetime.SoIhavewastedsomefivehoursofthelittlespanstilllefttous.Whowouldhavebelieveditpossible?ButIfeelverymuchfresher,andreadyformyfate—ortrytopersuademyselfthatIam.Andyet,thefitteramanis,andthehigherhistideoflife,themoremustheshrinkfromdeath.Howwiseandhowmercifulisthatprovisionofnaturebywhichhisearthlyanchorisusuallyloosenedbymanylittleimperceptibletugs,untilhisconsciousnesshasdriftedoutofitsuntenableearthlyharborintothegreatseabeyond!
Mrs.Challengerisstillinthedressingroom.Challengerhasfallenasleepinhischair.Whatapicture!Hisenormousframeleansback,hishuge,hairyhandsareclaspedacrosshiswaistcoat,andhisheadissotiltedthatIcanseenothingabovehiscollarsaveatangledbristleofluxuriantbeard.Heshakeswiththevibrationofhisownsnoring.SummerleeaddshisoccasionalhightenortoChallenger’ssonorousbass.