"His brain is quite clear," the doctor said. "Let him talk. It can do
him no harm. Nothing can save him. His head is full of queer fancies;
he wants every one to listen to him. He's worrying because there's some
message he wants to send... he wants to give it to you."
When I saw Wilbraham he was so little changed that I felt no shock.
Indeed, the most striking change in him was the almost exultant
happiness in his voice and eyes.
It is true that after talking to him a little I knew that he was dying.
He had that strange peace and tranquillity of mind that one saw so
often with dying men in the war.
I will try to give an exact account of Wilbraham's narrative; nothing
else is of importance in this little story but that narrative; I can
make no comment. I have no wish to do so. I only want to pass it on as
he begged me to do.
"If you don't believe me," he said, "give other people the chance of
doing so. I know that I am dying. I want as many men and women to have
a chance of judging this as is humanly possible. I swear to you that I
am telling the truth and the exact truth in every detail.
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