It seemed impossible.

Two days ago full of life, now on the way out.

There crowded in upon me thoughts of his home; his mother, whose letters he used to show me full of anxious love; his wild life here, with all its generous impulses, its mistakes, its folly.
"How long will he last ?" I asked, and my lips were dry and numb.
"Perhaps twenty-four hours, perhaps longer.

He can't throw off the poison." The old doctor proved a true prophet.

After another day of agonized delirium he sank into a stupor which lasted through the night.
Then the change came.