"Dont tell them, then," Popeye said. He lay for a while. "These damn hicks," he said. "Jesus Christ," he said.
"Beat it, now. I told you. "I'm all right."

On the night before a minister came in.

"Will you let me pray with you?" he said.

"Sure," Popeye said, "go ahead. You dont mind if I smoke, do you?"

Kneeling <[down?]> on the floor, the minister heard him rise. He <could hear him moving [illegible] the floor, near the wall. Then he
returned and lay on the cot again.>
heard him cross the floor, then return to the cot
When the minister rose Popeye was lying down, smoking. He looked at the floor
where <[illegible]> he had heard Popeye moving and saw <10> 12 marks at spaced intervals on the wall, as though marked by
burned matches. Two of the spaces were filled by cigarette stubs in a neat row, 20 of them to each space. In the
3rd space were 2 stubs. Before he left he watched Popeye rise and go and crush a third stub carefully out and lay
it beside the other two.

Just <before 6> after 5 oclock the minister returned. All the spaces were filled, save the last one, the whole parade <3> 1/4 complete.
Popeye still lay on the cot. "Ready to go?" he said.

"Not yet." The minister looked at him. "Try to pray," he said. "Try."

"Sure," Popeye said. "Go ahead. The minister knelt again.

At 5:20 the turnkey came. <"Your – he said.> "I've brought –" he said. He held his closed fist dumbly
through the grating. "Change from that 100 you never – I brought – It's <40> 48$," he said. "Wait,
<I'll count it ––> "I'll count it again; I done forget the odd [illegible] , but I can give you a list –"

"Keep it," Popeye said, without moving. "Buy yourself a <cigar> hoop."

They came for him act 6. The minister went with him to the scaffold and stood beside him praying, while they
adjusted the noose, dragging it over his sleek oiled head, breaking his hair loose. His hands were bound and he
began to jerk his head, flipping his hair back, while the minister prayed, the others motionless, with bowed heads
at their positions.

"Psssst!" he said, the sound cutting sharp across the minister's voice. "Psssst!"

A deputy drew near; Popeye <[bent?] to him. "Fix my hair for me, Jack."> <stood rigid, like he had an egg balanced on his head.> stood rigid, like he had an egg
balanced on his head. Fix my hair, <for me,> Jack."

It had been a gray day, a gray summer, a gray year. On the street old men wore overcoats, and in the
Luxembourg Gardens
[margin: as Temple and her father passed]
the women sat knitting in shawls and even the <[illegible] > men playing croquet played in
coats and capes, and in the sad gloom of the chestnut trees the dry click of balls, the random shouts of children,
had <that> a quality of autumn, gallant and evanescent and forlorn. Beyond the circle with its spurious greek
balustrade, clotted with movement, filled with a gray light of the same color and [density?] of the water which the fountain
played into the pool, came a crash of music. They went on, passed the spot where the children and 2 old
men sailed toy boats, and found seats. [illegible] <a decrepit old woman> an old woman came with decrepit
promptitude and collected 4 sous.

In the pavilion a band in the horizon-blue of the army played Massanet and Scriabine, and Berlioz, like
a thin coat of
[margin: tortured Tchaikovsky]
on a slice of stale bread, while the twilight dissolved in wet gleams from the branches upon the
roof of the pavilion and the sombre toadstools of umbrellas. Rich and resonant <and sad> the brasses crashed and
died in the thick green twilight, rolling over them in rich waves. Temple yawned, behind her hand, then she took out
a compact and opened it upon a face in miniature sullen and <sad with> discontented and sad. Beside her her father
sat, his hands crossed on his stick, the rigid bar of his mustache beaded with moisture like frosted <[illegible] > silver. She closed
the compact and from beneath her smart hat she seemed to follow with her eyes the waves of music, to dissolve into the
dying branches, across the pool and the opposite semicircle of trees where at sombre intervals the dead tranquil queens
in [illegible] stained marble mused, and on into the sky lying prone and vanquished in the embrace of the season of rain and
<of> death.

[margin: "Sure," the sheriff said, "Ill <[straighten it]> fix for you," springing the trap.]