Paul, with the vision that accompanies rapid drowning and dying in his last moments, vision in which the fugitives are concentrated memories of previous life, he thought in his youth, when he pulled the gun in the garden lying in Palma the ground and pretending to be wounded, as illusionary test matches. For the first time was to serve this fanciful precaution.

He clearly saw the black bulk of the enemy still at the focal point of his revolver. He became increasingly turbid, more tentative, as if the night is dark at times. He advanced cautiously, also with a gun in his hand, doubtless to top it. Then he pulled the trigger once, and again and again, believing that the weapon did not work, without ever hearing his blasts, saying in desperation that the enemy would fall upon him, deprived of defense. He no longer saw. A white mist spread before his eyes, ringing in the ears … But when he thought he felt about his opponent, the fog broke, he saw calm, blue light at night, and within walking distance, also lying on the floor, which turned body, arching, clawing land, launching a harrowing snoring, a hiccup of death.