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Updated: June 24, 2025
There was one fat, unctuous person seated opposite, to whom his interest was a torture, for he would have gone to sleep except for her remarkable presence: as it was, his heavy eyelids fell half-way shut, and drooped there at an agonizing angle, while his eyes remained immovably fixed upon that strange, death-white face.
One man, collarless, with waistcoat unbuttoned, and hat set far back from his forehead, waved a fan before his death-white flabby face, and set down one foot after the other with the heaviness of a somnambulist. Another, as they passed him, was saying huskily to the friend at his side, "I can't stand this much longer.
Penetrating the deepest recesses of the jungle a network of little, dusky, winding rivers, green-blue because the sky that is reflected in them is filtered through the interlacing branches. Orchids death-white, saffron, pink, violet, purple, crimson festooned from the higher boughs like incandescent lights of colored glass.
And then of this death-white, choking night which has come and strangled his fortitude and sent him out to seek a port amid its depressing billows. "My weekly letter from home failed to come," he told her, "and I was pretty blue. I knew I had to go before long and I was tired of waiting. I went out and bought morphine at every drug store where they would sell me a few tablets.
"It is strange," he mused. "I surely saw him. The most beautiful face I ever saw." Then he looked down at what had been James Neal. "He was very fortunate," said the doctor in a low tone, "to die with a face like that looking into his." There was a smile on the death-white lips of the little clerk. By VINCENT O'SULLIVAN
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