Disenchanted, we turn our attention back to picking lice off ourselves. We feel that the final chance has vanished into nothing. Once more the dying have no will to live; no longer do they grasp spasmodically at the straws of consciousness. Starvation, edema, typhus … Embittered, we shudder awake.… Here again is apathy, that numbing half sleep that sees us withdrawing into ourselves.
