But when I turned a chill caressed me – Go – a voice crawled up my spine – Leave – a finger turned my jaw – Hurry – and then there was a rushed blur of voices, hands, faces, running through the hall – Shhh, this way, run, don’t say a word. Death strode among them, glanced at me, but this time he didn’t smile. He wept. His arms were full and he could carry no more.
-Mary E. Pearson
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