Meanwhile, of course, the prospect struck her as slightly grim. Dishonored and tragic, she was all before me; but even as I fixed and, for memory, secured it, the awful image passed away. My coffin shall be black, Six angels at my back, Two to sing and two to pray And two to carry my soul away. There are no contraries or admixtures of any kind to temper or soften in the least the pains of hell.
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