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 do this for me, for me. It can do no harm, and is often of use. Come, it is really nothing. People in health often do it"

He opened his eyes widely.

"What, to communicate, eh? Why? It is not necessary. And besides—"

She burst out weeping.

"Yes, my friend, I will call our priest, he is so kind."

"Excellent, very well," said he.

When the priest came and confessed him he was touched, felt a sort of relief from his doubts, and consequently from his sufferings, and for a moment hope came back to him. Again he began to think about his lower intestine and the possibility of curing it. He communicated with tears in his eyes.

When they laid him down after communion he felt easier for a moment, and again a hope of life appeared. He began to think of the operation which lay before him. "I want to live, to live," he said to himself.

His wife came to ask him how he was. She said the usual words, and added:

"Now, don't you feel better?"

Without looking at her he answered: " Yes."

Her dress, her attitude, the expression of her face, the sound of her voice—it all said to him this one thing: "All that which you have lived for, and would live for, is a lie and a deception, hiding from you life and death." And no sooner had he thought this than a hatred of it all rose up within him, and together with the hatred, physical torment,