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I
was
compelled
to
repeat
my
question
loudly
before
he
answered
:
"
Not
all
the
time
.
"
The
left
hand
stumbled
slowly
and
painfully
across
the
paper
,
and
it
was
with
extreme
difficulty
that
we
deciphered
the
scrawl
.
It
was
like
a
"
spirit
message
,
"
such
as
are
delivered
at
seances
of
spiritualists
for
a
dollar
admission
.
"
But
I
am
still
here
,
all
here
,
"
the
hand
scrawled
more
slowly
and
painfully
than
ever
.
The
pencil
dropped
,
and
we
had
to
replace
it
in
the
hand
.
"
When
there
is
no
pain
I
have
perfect
peace
and
quiet
.
I
have
never
thought
so
clearly
.
I
can
ponder
life
and
death
like
a
Hindoo
sage
.
"
"
And
immortality
?
"
Maud
queried
loudly
in
the
ear
.
Three
times
the
hand
essayed
to
write
but
fumbled
hopelessly
.
The
pencil
fell
.
In
vain
we
tried
to
replace
it
.
The
fingers
could
not
close
on
it
.
Then
Maud
pressed
and
held
the
fingers
about
the
pencil
with
her
own
hand
and
the
hand
wrote
,
in
large
letters
,
and
so
slowly
that
the
minutes
ticked
off
to
each
letter
:
"
B-O-S-H
.
"
It
was
Wolf
Larsen
's
last
word
,
"
bosh
,
"
sceptical
and
invincible
to
the
end
.
The
arm
and
hand
relaxed
.
The
trunk
of
the
body
moved
slightly
.
Then
there
was
no
movement
.
Maud
released
the
hand
.
The
fingers
spread
slightly
,
falling
apart
of
their
own
weight
,
and
the
pencil
rolled
away
.
