“‘I suppose I’ll just have to live with this grief,’ he thought. A grief that one might feel when a loved one is dying slowly, painfully, letting their life evaporate in a thin mist over their head while getting nearer, ever nearer to the boatman. “Out of my hands,” he liked to say to himself, though he knew that he could never let that be the case. He shivered, felt that well-known pain swell in his chest and looked at the souls all around, freezing in their skin, traipsing around a cold shelf in Hell.”

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