Cloots reckoned that he had perhaps five minutes before the stated limit.
A friend of Cloots he suffered with him on the scaffold, 24 March, 1794.
Cloots stepped into the chapel for no purpose, in mere idle discernment of color and contrast.
Cloots arrived as a confident and more or less truly appreciative observer of all these details.
The doctor sought no further comments on Cloots—that was quite sufficient and might serve for an epitaph.
Cloots had taken the measure of him months before and once for all, he would have said, in his smoky little village.
The young Cloots, heir to a great fortune, was sent at eleven years of age to Paris to complete his education.
Yet Cloots saw now with transfixing clarity that he did not know him in the least—could never have known him.
Cloots had fallen back to the wall with sagging jaw, with eyes fixed and starting in their sockets.
And in fact it became clear to Cloots that this affair would have to be solved on the spot.