A not at all romantic figure she made, standing beside the sputtering gas jet, her spectacles balanced on her nose, her thin neck and forearms exposed, and her old face studying the lid of the pill box held in her toil- and age-worn hands.

The box dropped from her fingers and rolled along the floor.

He saw an awful look slowly creep over her features as the terrible thought crept over her mind.

As she began to turn her face toward him, with a motion of the head like that of a machine on unoiled bearings, he closed his eyes; but he felt her looking at him.
"Dr.Schulze!" she said, an almost soundless breathing of the name that always meant the last resort in mortal illness.
He was trying to think of lies to tell her, but he could think of nothing.

The sense of light upon his eyelids ceased.