"I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. Well, after a time there came a fever in my blood. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. “It is unimportant,” she said. F. He said the place had gone to wrack.
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