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272 A few steps from the house, when I saw him Go out. I hurried to him. Saw him turn The corner… suddenly, from out a window Where he was passing—was it chance?… may be! A lackey let fall a large piece of wood.

Cowards! O Cyrano!

I ran—I saw…

'Tis hideous!

Saw our poet, Sir—our friend— Struck to the ground,–a large wound in his head!

He's dead?

No–but–I bore him to his room… Ah! his room! What a thing to see!—that garret!

He suffers?

No, his consciousness has flown.

Saw you a doctor?