Hurriedly Wolf pressed down those elevated knees and pulled the bedclothes up to the man’s chin. Then, taking out his handkerchief, he wiped the mouth with it, screwed it into a tight ball and wedged it between the blankets and the jaw of the dead. That done, he drew a long breath and stared at Mr. Malakite. But where was Mr. Malakite? The face above the stained handkerchief seemed a new phenomenon in the world⁠—something that had no connection with the old man he had heard crying the word “forget” just now. It was as if the thing he had known in his experience as Mr. Malakite had completely vanished; and from somewhere else had arisen this frozen simulacrum.