I knew it must be Death, the figure confused itself in my mind with Kathleen-ni-Houlihan and (will you believe it?) Sara Allgood! Fancy the appearance of Death in the middle of Africa suggesting to me the character of an Irish play and the actress I had seen in it! There followed a slight pause, during which Death stood perfectly still. Then two more figures entered the tiny hut. One was the Devil, Ahriman, Abaddon, what you will; I recognized him at once, he was so likable and, besides, he was lame. The other, I gathered after a little conversation, was an emissary from heaven. Eblis seated himself on one side of my cot, resting his crutches against the wall, and Gabriel's ambassador stood on the other side. Now these two droll fellows began to describe the climates and amusements of heaven and hell to me, each speaking in his turn, and continually interrupting themselves to beg me to decide speedily where I wanted to go. They stated frankly that they had not any too much time, as they had several other visits to make before dinner in various parts of the world. The Angel polished his feathers with a small hatbrush and the Devil seemed to be taking good care of his nails, in default of the opportunity to visit a manicure. Death stood immovable, inexorable. Imagine, even in her presence, I had to make up my mind where I wanted to go. It was a terrible experience, I can tell you! It was as if—she were saying, Hurry now, hurry now! Nine minutes more.
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