Flint--an arrow-head of flint with notched edges--tears; the muscles do not close about the intruder.

The blood flows into the chest; it fills the lungs; he suffocates.

Yet all consciousness has not vanished, although pain and oppression overwhelm the physical instruments of consciousness, and deprive the will of its connection with its tools.

The will longs to see him who has destroyed its abode, but it no longer controls the shattered tissues; the nerves shiver like the broken springs of clockwork ere they come to a stand-still forever.

The eye still distinguishes light occasionally, but it cannot see any longer.
Weaker and weaker become the breathings.