"The African ran swiftly down the village road leading from the compound to the house of Mr. Andoah who worked in the clinic. Barefooted children, carrying buckets of stream water in the early morning light, turned, still sleepy-eyed, toward the fast moving man, as the goats and chickens wandering in his path leaped over a ways. As he approached Andoah's, his legs a blur of motion, his arms pumping furiously, he began to cry out in a high piercing scream: "Kwaku!—Kwaku! Come quickly... Mr. Glen... He is not well... His head—Blood—There is no breath..."
From: Glen: a novel