It is known on the West Coast of Africa, and the cure for it is
unknown.
"Hold me!" cried Durnovo. "Don't let me sleep!"
His head fell forward even as he spoke, and the staring wide-open
eyes that could not sleep made a horror of him.
Oscard took him by the arms, and held him in a sitting position.
Durnovo's fingers were clutching at his sleeve.
"Shake me! God! shake me!"
Then Oscard took him in his strong arms, and set him on his feet.
He shook him gently at first, but as the dread somnolence crept on
he shook harder, until the mutilated inhuman head rolled upon the
shoulders.
"It's a sin to let that man live," exclaimed Joseph, turning away in
horror.
"It's a sin to let ANY man die," replied Oscard, and with his great
strength he shook Durnovo like a garment.
And so Victor Durnovo died. His stained soul left his body in Guy
Oscard's hands, and the big Englishman shook the corpse, trying to
awake it from that sleep which knows no earthly waking.
So, after all, Heaven stepped in and laid its softening hand on the
judgment of men. But there was a strange irony in the mode of
death. It was strange that this man, who never could have closed
his eyes again, should have been stricken down by the sleeping
sickness.
They laid the body on the floor, and covered the face, which was
less gruesome in death, for the pity of the eyes had given place to
peace.
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