...he felt the whole vision turn to darkness and his very feet give way. His head went round; he was going; he had gone.

Mr. Lecky never got any farther than the third floor. Not conscious of impossible fatigue, feeling less than his distress of the morning, he was notwithstanding seized by a faintness. This sudden spinning dizzied him. A darkness as impalpable, more discrete, yet blacker than night's, spun out from dancing points to overlapping disks. They were so wide, so close to his eyes, that he could not strike them off. He had only a second given him to see and apprehend. This same second loosened his grip on consciousness. He seemed to let go, hardly struggling. His muscles let go everywhere, too. He had time to hear, like some remote accident, the bang of the shotgun, gone, the smash of glass in at least one flashlight lens. This was the thin segment of the actual second, and Mr. Lecky knew nothing of himself slumping to lie on the stairs with the things he had dropped.

He became more conscious, but was falling back into unconsciousness,

The last breath shoots out of her, and then she lapses into unconsciousness.

In 18 years, I've never seen somebody [faint]. Three times.

I'm Irish and Cherokee Indian. I can't faint.