The faithful Lear, lying on the outside of the bed in order to be able to help turn Washington with less pain, and poor old Dr.Craik, lifelong friend, who became too moved to speak, so that he sat off near the fire in silence except for a stifled sob, and Mrs.Washington, placed near the foot of the bed, waiting patiently in complete self-control.
She seemed to have determined that the last look which her mate of forty years had of her should not portray helpless grief.

And from time to time the negro slaves came to the door that led into the entry and they peered into the room very reverently, and with their emotions held in check, at their dying master.

And then there was a ceasing of the pain and the breathing became easier and quieter and Dr.Craik placed his hand over the life-tired eyes and Washington was dead without a struggle or even a sigh.
The pathos or tragedy of it lies in the fact that all the devices and experiments of the doctors could avail nothing.

The quinsy sore throat which killed him could not be cured by any means then known to medical art.

The practice of bleeding, which by many persons was thought to have killed him, was then so widely used that his doctors would have been censured If they had omitted it.