Death stretches out its hand to touch a famous general's brow. A paper breaks the news that evening. People throng the sick man's home. He's paralysed by pain, his limbs and tongue. He glances round and concentrates for hours upon familiar things. Tranquil, he recalls old heroes. From the outside - silence and quiescence cloak him. Inside - he's been rotted by life's envies, cowardice, voluptuous leprosy, by rage and foolish wilfulness, ill-will. A heavy groan. - He's gone. - The voice of every citizen laments: "His dying has destroyed our nation! With him virtue died!"
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