Once more from the book re: Zubkoff's last years:
'Came the spring of 1930 and once mroe he took odd jobs as a waiter, including one at the holiday resort of Esch-on-the-alzette. At the end of the season he returned to Luxemburg...jobless and soon without any means. He had to leave his furnished room for lack of money and moved into a dirty shack in the garden of the house, which was used for storing furniture and garden tools. With what he could gather by any means at all, he bought only cocaine and liquor and his condition descended...He never bought food, relied entirely on what he could beg. Drunk, drugged, he could be seen shuffling through the streets, too weak to work, even if anyone had wished to employ him...Yet he still continued to act the 'nobleman'; anyone who tried to help him was treated with condescension, even contempt.... Occasionally a restauranteur for whom he had worked in the past, or where perhaps he had once been an esteemed patron, gave him a bowl of soup, and in this fashion he just stayed alive...He was taken to the hospital once in 1935, when he collapsed in the street, unable to move. Two weeks of regular meals and a clean, comfortable bed improved him--but only so much, for as the yearning for liquor grew strong again, he fled the hospital and returned to his shack. On January 28, 1936, the neighborsthought the silence from the shack was significant....They pushed open the flimsy door to find him dead on the floor, little more than a skeleton. He had clearly fallen out of his camp bed many hours previously and had been unable to get back...It was the unlovely end of an unlovely man.'