I had just come to the end

I had just come to the end of Van Gogh's life, sitting at the long oak table in the library. A tall stocky army officer walked over to the middle-aged librarian sitting behind her desk. The back of his uniform was draped in long pleats on both sides. He talked without looking at her, leaning forward, only placing his finger tips on the top of her desk. Finally he looked at her, at the same time stretching the corner of his mouth as far as it would go. As the last words came out, the tips of his fingers grew as white as snow.