In those days the Master’s chess games were cheerful and lively, but as
illness overtook him that ghostlike quality became apparent. Even after the
August 10 session he had to have games to divert him. To me it was as if he
were suffering the torments of hell.
The next session was scheduled for August 14. But the Master was far
weaker and in great pain. The managers urged suspending the match. The
newspaper had resigned itself to the inevitable. The Master made a single
play on August 14 and a recess was called.
Seated at the board, each player first took his bowl of stones from the
board and set it at his knee. The bowl seemed too heavy for the Master. The
players in turn, following the earlier course of the match, laid the stones out
as at the end of the last session. The Master’s stones seemed about to slip
through his fingers, but as the ranks took shape he seemed to gain strength,
and the click of the stones was sharper.
Absolutely motionless, the Master meditated for thirty-three minutes
over his one play. It had been agreed that White 100 would be sealed.
