"Death was in every sell of his body. He gave off a faint, greenish steam of decay. Lee imagined he would glow in the dark."

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Every winter, When the great sun has turned his face away, The earth goes down into a vale of grief, And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables, Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay- Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.

— Charles Kingsley